Descent
by Dim Aldebaran
Summary: When the 'Eye on Arty' is broken in a dusting mishap, Holly is sent to investigate. All is not well in Fowl Manor, and the mind of one in particular is falling to where none can follow. Insanity, after all, is liberation as well as death.
1. Player Piano

D E S C E N T

- Dim Aldebaran -

Chapter One

**:i:**

_And when the wind draws strong_

_across the cypress trees,_

_the nightbirds cease their songs;_

_so gathers memories._

"Courtyard Lullaby"

Loreena McKennitt

**:i:**

Juliet hated her job.

It wasn't that she hated cleaning; far from it. There was something soothing about sweeping and wiping, dusting and polishing. It gave her time to collect her scattered thoughts and herd them back into the fold of her mind.

The reason was tied to how they became scattered to begin with: disappointments, those ravaging wolves, beautiful and terrible in the strange little way horrors have perfected. Angeline. Domovoi. Artemis. Wrestling.

Her dusting nearly broke the feathered contraption, sending up a cloud of dust that, instead of simply dispelling, migrated to a mahogany display case—which she had already finished. Sighing, she restarted.

She had moved to the United States last year, her citizenship supplied as a farewell gift from Arty—when he was Arty and not Artemis. 'Jade Princess,' young, beautiful, wealthy, was asked to try out for the Olympic team, not as Irish but American, the country of her heart.

Her tryout had hardly been a failure. 'Success' would have been like saying Amy Lee is a damn good singer. The team welcomed her as one of their own, taking her in with rippling arms and smiles as grand as their Chicago apartments.

It had been afterwards.

The accident was still a blur: the party afterwards, her first six-pack, the drunk wrestlers, the carpool, the lakeside, the wrong side of the road, the semi, the screams—

She had been the only one to survive. One killed, two critically injured. Including herself. A two-month stay in the hospital had leeched her muscle mass. The coach had come by to tell her she wouldn't be able to recover in time. She had protested; she had three months till the Olympics, she'd do physical therapy, she'd work hard—

Dom had brought the Fowl jet over the Atlantic wordlessly, the whole flight silent except for the muffed roar of the engine. He knew what she was going through, and she where his sympathies truly lay. He couldn't even understand that the Fowls were not for her.

Juliet found herself dusting a vase too hard; it rocked dangerously, and fell to the floor. She tried to catch it, and perhaps pre-hospital Juliet could have, but not the Juliet who had received a severe concussion and dozens of broken bones.

The shatter was muffled somewhat by the plush carpet, but the sound would still bring Angeline running with Dom—no, Dom would hobble feebly—and possibly Senior, if he wasn't busy volunteering for some damn charity or another. Junior wouldn't come. He wouldn't care.

She looked down on the broken vase. The delicate, blue-tinted porcelain lay all over the ground, the curves shadowing the crimson carpet.

Numb, she knelt down and fingered one of the pieces. The tiny head of a delicate, wispy dragon somehow remained in its entirety, fractures running like cobwebs through the moonlike porcelain. The fierce blue-black eyes accused her beneath _bleu claire_ brows. _You murdered me! Shame upon you and your family, _shitake!

_And now I'm the murderer of a talking porcelain vase,_ she mused, turning the piece over and over in her right hand. _A three-thousand-year-old, million-dollar porcelain vase._

Juliet picked up the piece neighboring the dragon-head. It bore graceful wings painted with the shimmering sapphire dye, lacy blue against pearly white. The dragon had lost his wings. The irony was not lost to her.

There was a gasp as Angeline entered the study. Juliet did not need to turn around to see her; a gaudy mirror on the opposite wall revealed it all. The hand fluttering up to the cherubic mouth, brown eyes now Mediterranean-wide, elegantly curled and coifed chestnut hair Juliet had done only this morning, other hand, white-knuckled, clutching deep turquoise skirts…

"Juliet!" she finally managed. "How—how _could _you!"

Juliet looked down at the broken shards. "Oops."

The hand flickered down from Angeline's mouth, pointing shakily at the door. "Just get out! Go—go clean the piano or something. Just _go!_"

Juliet looked at Angeline, mind suddenly unable to work. "The piano doesn't need cleaning. Artemis did it himself a month ago—"

"**Go**!"

Juliet hadn't moved that fast since before the accident.

**:i:**

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

Artemis sighed ever-so-slightly, ever the dramatist. "I'm extremely sorry for inciting a revolt in a post-stamp country for my own betterment. I don't know what made me do it." His voice was tuned to that of a bored robot. He had, after all, said nearly the same thing a thousand times before. Father must like the sound.

Artemis Seniorlooked at him from beneath fine eyebrows. It took a blind person _not_ to see the resemblance between them; both had pale, almost vampiric skin that burnt far too easily beneath the sun. Dull black hair was kept neatly in hand with identical haircuts; angular features brought to mind the agelessness of stereotypical Elves. Most striking were their eyes; four sapphires, the likes of which had never been seen before, worthy of any shah's bride, beyond the wildest dreams of the folks at Tiffany's. It was as if Angeline was not even in the bloodline. "I don't believe you, to be perfectly frank. I know the amount of planning it would take to do something like that."

Junior studied his perfectly manicured nails. No, his father did _not _know the amount of planning it took. He would never be able to pull off a thirty-minute, hundred-pound scheme that would reap more then a hundred-million pounds and keep them afloat in _d'argent _for quite a while, even when he had approved of that sort of thing. "Call it a moment of weakness then. However, the deed is done, and no amount of money shall make anyone sorry for the corporations involved. God knows how much of an annoyance Myishi's been on the stock market lately."

Senior glared at him; it was from his father that the younger took his infamous facial expressions. "Your actions are already affecting the global economy. Small, perhaps, but the flap of a butterfly's wings may cause a storm a world away."

"But a pebble can stem a flood. My 'actions' shall aid the global environment, as well as save several indigenous tribes from Americanization in the Amazon."

"Ah," Senior said, raising one finger into the air, "but two wrongs do not make a right, even if they involve such, ah, _creative _means."

"But what of crimes against both humanity _and _ecology?" Artemis countered. "They pay for their sins, and we are made greater. There was nothing illegal about my means. They were simply… distasteful."

"How noble of you," Senior murmured, settling deeper into his plush leather chair. "I suppose you think of yourself as some sort of contemporary Robin Hood?"

"You could say that, except I plan to be a _rich _Robin Hood."

They sat in silence for several long minutes, leaning back in their chairs, chins up arrogantly. Even their scowls were exactly alike. The blind idiot, distinctive lack of sight or no, would be too busy tallying up their likenesses to mark Juliet's entry.

"Er…" she started, then froze when two pairs of cold eyes swiveled towards her.

"Yes?" Artemis Junior demanded, causing Juliet to flinch. Timidness was the product of pain.

Senior shot a sharp glance across at Junior, which was returned with the boredom characteristic of any teenager. "What is it?"

Juliet blushed, twisting her scarred hands together. Junior had already seen the porcelain clutched in her fist, and guessed her words: "You broke the vase."

She looked at her feet to dodge the laser-like glares, but they never came. She heard the rustle of cloth, and then the muted padding of Armani loafers.

Perhaps a little history of why Capital Letters were unneeded to identify 'the vase' would help. Artemis Senior, shortly before his grandmother Selene Fowl passed away, received that very vase for his twelfth birthday. It had been a treasured heirloom ever since, valued more to them than all the paintings in the Louvre—sentimentality has its very own rules for inflation.

Fearing their reaction, Juliet decided to, indeed, clean the piano—despite the fact that it was in Artemis' room.

Artemis' room was something of a no-no to all those in Fowl Manor. The young savant liked his privacy, and his suite of rooms was more isolated than Alcatraz. That meant to _no_ concerned parents breaking-and-entering, _no_ holiday decorating, and absolutely _no _maids coming up the lonely flight of stairs to 'chat.'

It was a good thing Juliet never had too many qualms about breaking rules. Rules were only there so one thought before breaking them. Had Juliet not heard—and believed—that phrase, there would be some very unpleasant things going on in the world today. World War, to name one.

Not that the younger Butler knew any of this. As far as she was concerned, the stairs up to the third floor were far too long for her regenerating muscles.

Juliet scowled at each and every portrait once she gained the upper third-story corridor. It was a habit previous bad moods had cultured. For some odd reason or another, Fowls _liked _those awful, austere old paintings of overly powdered wigheads. She just figured that it was the sort of adoration the owner had for one of those damn rat-dogs.

Soon the door to Artemis' room was ahead. It seemed so… simple after the purposeful luxury of the rest of Fowl Manor. It wasn't even made of endangered trees or plated with an obscenely expensive metal. Oak, simple red oak.

Juliet took a deep breath, grasping the simple doorknob. Make that three. She had never been this far before. Artemis kept his room very, very much to himself since he was young, and the Senior Artemis approved of this—_had _approved of this. Angeline, after her husband's disappearance, certainly didn't have the mind to try and rid Artemis of his extremely secretive behavior.

She opened the door.

The first distinct thing that she saw was the glowing computer monitor, flickering slightly in a never-ending search. The rest of the room was cast in eerie florescent shadows, dull and gloomy as a clown in the gutter.

Juliet blinked, trying to let her eyes adjust to the perpetual gloom. What was he searching for? She distantly remembered the entire computer room searching for news of Artemis Senior's rescue, all in vain. What would he be searching for now?

She thought for a moment. The only thing he had left was that damn motto of his.

He must be doing something criminal.

Criminal meant interesting.

Intrigued, Juliet stepped forward with shaking legs. They weren't shaking from fear; far from it. It was from standing up for far too long.

**SEARCH: fairies people gnommish dwarf lep haven atlantis tuatha dé denaan b'wa kell triad**

Juliet blinked, one emerald-painted hand scratching her blonde stubble—she had lost her hair in the subsequent surgueries. Why was he searching for a bunch of stupid fairies on the net? All he'd ever get were fansites and cults.

Frowning, she turned from the pale glow of the monitor and let her adjusting night vision scan the rest of the room.

There were four walls, like any other chamber, and a door and a bedraped window. But, somehow, it was _not _a room, as if nothing had been truly living in it. Everything screamed this; the clean lines of the Spartan bed shoved into a corner, the lack of aesthetics, the cold, hard beige carpet, the off-white walls… The only thing that made it remotely human was the grand piano in front of the covered window. The scant light was dull on the ebony faces.

Clutching her cleaning rag tightly, she crossed the floor and looked closer at the piano. A thin film of dust had accumulated, making the already yellowed ivory keys the brown usually seen in the hair of dirty blondes.

The tips of her fingers touched the piano seat, and lifted them for inspection. No dust. Artemis must have sat there, staring at the piano but not playing.

The same fingers curled around the edge of the seat, lifting the lid to reveal battered pieces of music, from Chopin to Mozart, Grieg to Schumann.

They hesitated, then lifted out _Chopsticks_.

Angeline, long ago before her husband disappeared, had given her piano lessons. Nothing elaborate, nothing paid; just sitting down for an hour a day, teaching her the notes. After Angeline had become… bedridden, there had been no more lessons. Artemis had had the piano moved up to his room, and the rippling sounds of Mendelhossen had never been heard again.

Juliet sat down on the bench, and then placed the music on the stand. She didn't think she'd get caught—Artemis had had soundproof lining installed. All the same, she just wanted to play. God knows she had been doing enough harm to the Fowls lately.

She paused suddenly in mid down-stroke, letting the middle B snap up before a sound could be made. She hadn't opened the lid. Stupid, _stupid…_

Juliet picked herself up from the seat, noticing the distinct impressions her fingers had made in the dust on the keys, like little white ghosts in the dusty continuum. After fumbling with the catch she opened it. The dust mushroomed into a cloud as she propped the top open.

She looked across the bared strings, wondering briefly how such simple little things could make such magic. Arty would probably be able to give her an answer. He certainly had enough of them.

Curious, she leaned across the piano and pressed the nearest key, watching the corresponding string carefully.

**CLANK**

Juliet frowned and pressed the note—E?—again, watching the strong carefully. It seemed like something was tying it down, or something like that. But how would something get stuck in a piano?

Her frown deepened, and she ducked her head to look at the strings. The slight air movement caused dust to fly up in her face. As Juliet sneezed violently, the notes hummed slightly. There was a muffled _clink_, barely heard through her coughs.

When the dust had settled sufficiently, Juliet opened her eyes again. There was a glint beneath the strings, dulled somewhat by the new layer of dust. It looked like a chain, a gold chain…

Juliet slid a hand between two of the strings, reaching for the pale bullion. A fingertip brushed it, just barely, but not enough to pull it out.

She scowled at the far wall, straining her body against the side of the piano as she reached for the chain. She could almost get it—

Just as her fingers wrapped around it, her side brushed against the rod holding the lid up, sending it crashing down onto her back. There was a crack, a scream, and her limbs spasmed out before settling, limp and lifeless, against the sable wood.

In the corner, a fallen piece of porcelain glimmered, eyes brightening momentarily before fading back into a dull shine.

**:i:**

Holly liked the color blue. There wasn't anything special about its particular wavelength. Her wishy-washy, idealistic side thought that it might be because it was the color of the stereotypical sea and sky. Her normal, a-matter-of-fact part decided that this was because it was the least feminine of the colors.

At the moment, Holly had a scanty, Caribbean-blue blouse on with a little flare on the sleeves. She wouldn't normally wear this sort of thing—if Root or Foaly caught her wearing this, she would simply die of shame, which would not look good on her memorial plaque.

All the same, it was nice to indulge her feminine side every once in a while.

She leaned back against the bar counter, running a hand through her short auburn hair. On the dating scene. Again. She barely had had time for herself before, let alone for another of the preferably opposite gender.

Now, however, driven by the unexpected blessing of a week-long vacation, she had spontaneously decided to look for a date. Pathetic, she knew, but she had had the uncontrollable urge to say something to someone—anyone, really— who not involved in the LEP. Loneliness was not just for Mud Maids with obscenely long hair in big towers.

An elf sauntered through the flashing green lights, selecting a seat next to Holly. She hoped it wasn't coincidence.

"Wanna drink?" he asked, spinning on the barstool to face Holly.

She shrugged, pushing her existing drink onto the floor. Genuine crystal—it shattered. "Sure."

As the elf ordered up the special, Holly examined him. He had short green hair, probably white-blonde when not under the effect of night-club theatrics, and bright emerald eyes that could very well be natural. His skin was as verdant as his hair, giving the overall appearance of a giant Granny Smith apple inthe limelight.

"What's your name?" she asked casually, sipping the glittering peridot beverage. It tasted of Mud Men, but she didn't say anything. _Mountain Dew_, as they called it, was one of the more treasured creations from Up There.

The elf took a swig. Holly watched in mild fascination as the sparkling diamond facets—diamond was easy to make in commercial labs—refracted the drink into a mesmerizing light show. "What's yours?"

"Holly." She waited for him to say his, but he remained silent.

She decided to call him 'Lime'.

They sat in silence for several long moments, savoring their drink while the light was still green. Holly knew that the next color on the palette would be violet, and combined with the natural color of Lime, he would turn an unappetizing shade of pink-brown.

Lime inched closer to Holly. A smile touched her cherubic lips. This was game she hadn't played in twenty years. "New here?" he asked, turning absently in his chair. The lights turned his flashy, fighter-pilot-style jumpsuit into a violent shade of brown; _most _unappetizing.

"You could say that," she responded, raising an arm to brush back nonexistent hair from her brow (_damn LEP regulations._)

He smiled, looking across the room at the dance floor. The People had recently discovered 'Disco.' "Busy job?"

She didn't need to answer that. Not because it went unsaid, but rather, the detached helmet earpiece spoke. Or rather, barked. "Short!"

Lime's magenta eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Holly Short?" he blurted out, glass jerking from his fuchsia lips. "The crazy girly captain?"

Holly grimaced at both voices. 'Crazy girly captain' had become her new media label, after the commonplace headline: **"CRAZY GIRLY CAPTAIN DOES IT AGAIN"**.

"Yes?" she asked cautiously, ripping the rest of the headpiece from her pocket and jamming it into her ears. LEP regulations demanded that officers carry comm units at all times.

"Down here _now_," Root snapped over the comm. There was the sound of rushing footsteps.

Holly smiled apologetically at Lime, who was staring at her with mixed horror and fascination. "Gotta go," she told Lime, fluttering her eyelashes flirtaceously as she slid off the scintillated violet barstool.

Notice that Holly did not leave him her number.

**:i:**

Juliet awoke in a bed. A very hard bed.

She moaned, turning her head. She could hear the vertebrae in her neck grind together in protest as she did so, and she stopped. Extreme pain tends to do that.

Her eyes opened, blurred somewhat with sleep. A smooth, almost silky sheet was tucked around her chin, stretched almost taut to the edges of the narrow bed.

Artemis' bed.

Her first thought was something along the lines of, _What the Hell happened?_

The second was more similar to, _What the Hell did Artemis _do

It was not until the sixth until she thought, _What the Hell did _I _do?_

Juliet was, frankly, a stranger to strange beds. Dom made sure of that. She was equally a stranger to waking up in _hard _beds—Madame Ko was mercifully convinced that hard beds would cause back problems.

She took several deep breaths, forcing herself to relax. The last thing she remembered was grabbing on to that funny bit of gold. And then pain in her back. Put two and two together, and…

Juliet almost swore aloud, but stopped when she remembered that Artemis detested swearing. Since she was probably marked on his most updated version of the Hit List, it would not be good idea to annoy him any more. Besides, he was probably in the room right now—

She brought up her hands, rubbing her eyes clear and praying that there wasn't any mascara left on them.

_Damn_. Her hands came down again, more black than peach.

_It's stupid I'm still doing this,_ she thought glumly, trying valiantly to get the black off with Artemis' blanket, The pain in her neck had stopped. _After all the mess with wrestling I'm still doing it. Wearing all _this.

She squinted, bringing the blanket up to rub her watering eyes. It probably only smeared the mascara further, but she didn't particularly care. She could see now, at least.

_This can't be right…_

Artemis was pacing.

She blinked twice, tearing a bit when more mascara made its way into her cornea. He was a bit blurry, granted, but definitely pacing. He had on a simple Oxford-style shirt, the collar flipped a bit on one side, and black dress pants that rustled as he walked. The ebony hair looked like he had been running his hands through it; slightly ruffled, almost cute.

It was eyes that Juliet found odd. She had never seen them like this before; they were glazed, as if with dryness or death. The ever-present lines on his forehead seemed all the more relevant when compared to the twilit depths, that empty, empty blue…

"Artemis?" she whispered, brushing aside the blankets. "You 'kay?"

He ignored her, or at the very least, did not notice. The fevered pacing continued, the room soundless except for the gentle rustle of his pants.

Juliet's hands clenched around the edge of the bed, and she slung her legs over. Her hot-pink toes wriggled on the hard carpet. "Artemis?" she asked again, a little louder.

His eyes were wide and unseeing, but his lips began to move. Soundless mutterings, whispered fears; Juliet fervently wished he had paid more attention to the lip-reading lessons Ko had given her. What words came from the lips of a savant, what marvels—

She got up out of the bed, limping slightly. He still didn't notice. The bloodless lips moved soundlessly.

Juliet cast her eyes around the room. The computer was still on, but the search was no longer running. There was only that repetitious screensaver that gave the feeling of light speed; small pixels of white soared infinitely beyond the center of the screen. On the far side of the room, beyond the shut piano, there was a long dark line on the wall.

Eyeing Artemis warily, she crossed the room. Her feet tingled from the floors rough texture. She ran her fingers along the line in the wall, wiggling them experimentally. It was a seam for a panel. No wonder the room seemed so uncluttered; this little boy kept his toys hidden.

The seam suddenly widened, and the panel fell forward onto Juliet. She nearly fell beneath the sudden weight, but she gritted her teeth and braced her legs, letting the panel fall in a more controlled fashion. She squealed as it almost decapitated ten pink piggies from her foot.

Juliet put the panel aside, careful of her aching feet, and peered into the blackness. Vague shapes began to appear in the gloom; a minute silver rifle, knots of colored wire, CD cases—

—a glint of gold. A gold medallion with a hole through the center.

**:i:**

This is version II of this chapter. More chapters will be edited as Holiday Break progresses. Older readers will note that I pulled, first the Colferesque introduction, then Argon's spiffy philosophical abstraction. Mesa didn't likey, and readers seemed put off by anything resembling Kant. So.

Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is the best thing in the world to me – after a beta reader (Please? Pretty please?) This fandom has a distressing lack of editors...


	2. Butler Service

D E S C E N T

- Dim Aldebaran -

Chapter Two

_I have been ready at your hand_

_to grant whatever thou woulds't crave;_

_I have waged both life and land,_

_your love and goodwill to have._

"Greensleeves"

Loreena McKennitt

**:i:**

Holly still had that Baja-blue blouse on as she rushed over the sidewalks, head held low to reduce the number of encounters with tabloid writers—she was well enough acquainted with the _Lower Elements Express _as it was. More importantly, however, was the question of Root: if he saw her looking remotely feminine, she might lose what respect he had for her.

His respect was all that kept her going at times.

So she went to her apartment first.

Problem: she had lost her keys.

"D'Arvit!" she swore, not so much under her breath as without it. In a society where everyone opted for digital passwords, keys, a Mud Man device, were a strange and inconvenient thing. However, the fact that no one in Haven knew how to pick locks, and that Mulch was safely locked away, was rather convenient to her. She had a horrible memory for passwords anyway.

She went through her pockets, methodically this time. There was her debit card and a bit of polyester lint in one, and her comm piece in the other, muted so she didn't have to listen to Root any more than she had to.

She swore again, louder. This time, someone answered: "Try just opening it."

A mother clapped her hands over her child's pointed ears in a neighboring flat. "D'Arvit Foaly!"

A snicker—or rather a whicker—came from the other side, muffled in only the slightest due to the thin walls. "No need to swear," Foaly replied. There was a crinkling noise, as if he were adjusting his tinfoil hat. "I unlocked it for you. You should be grateful."

"How in Frond's name did _you_ get in there?" she demanded, flattening her face against the door. She was getting later by the second. Her paycheck had a certain inverse relationship to Root's blood pressure. Really. Foaly had calculated it once.

Holly fiddled more furiously with her pockets, muttering under her breath. Foaly rattled on: "Holly, I _love _what you've done with the place. How long have you been living here? Thirty, forty years? _Very _cozy, if a bit sparse. Not a bottle of Irish whiskey in the place, unlike Julius'… And _speaking _of the Irish…"

Holly looked down at her blouse. The beaded hem jingled at her, sapphires and aquamarines glinting with artificial beauty.

"You have five seconds to get out of the main room," she snapped.

"I'll be in your bedroom. Tell me when it's safe"

"D'Arvit, NO!" Holly threw herself at the door, crumpling a bit when it stayed in one piece. _Don't let him see the skirt, don't let him see the skirt,_

"My _my_ Holly, does this really fit on you?" drifted his voice.

"FOALY!" She slammed herself into the door again, just for good measure.

"Try the knob."

She stared at it for a moment, what little she had heaving. Then she turned the knob.

The 'cozy' room was untouched. The only sound was Foaly's innocent whistling from her room. He stepped out, his tin foil hat a strange mockery of a halo. From his hands dangled the Skirt.

Back when Holly _had _girlfriends—say, sixty years ago—they would go shopping. She was not a complete fool for it, but it was fun enough. She remained in the background, critiquing every outfit with a sharp tongue. Her friends always looked so stupid in Mud Maidesque clothing.

But… some things rubbed off. Holly had had a thing for green back then, you see, and when this flighty little number went on sale…

She never told her friends about the Skirt, retaining her practical, antifeminine reputation. They drifted apart once she joined the LEP Academy. She blamed them for it, for getting married to perfect stud elves and having perfect little elflings and perfect little houses. She managed to rationalize her choices, most of the time; but all of us have our little secrets, our little yearnings which go so against the masks we wear. This was Holly's. She was a female, just like everyone else.

Whenever she saw the Skirt, a small, secret pang pierced to her heart, thinking about the perfect little life she could have had, one without death flying at her at Mach 2 on a daily basis. She kept it deep in her closet, but every decade or so she would take it out and give it a twirl.

Foaly grinned and shook the Skirt so its multilayered pleats fluttered like emerald parrots in a cage. "_Really_, Ho—"

"Please don't tell Root."

Foaly's face was surprised, and rightly so: he had never heard pleading in Holly's voice before.

Holly took his silence as uncertainty, and she met his eyes. "Foaly, _please_…"

His face gentled somewhat. 'Gentle' looked very awkward on an equine face. "I won't. But, anyways, speaking of the Emerald—"

"I don't have time," Holly stated. The weariness in her voice surprised him more yet; he had to see this new development. "Root called me down to the Plaza."

"Funny, Root sent me here to talk to you."

Holly dropped the jumpsuit she had been carrying to the bathroom. "Oh."

"Really, Holly, the issue deserves more than that!"

Suddenly, she snatched the Skirt from Foaly and hung it briskly in her closet. "And the issue is…?" she asked tersely.

"I'll give you three guesses."

"Foaly!"

He whickered. "I'll give you a hint: it's important enough that Julius doesn't want it on the record."

She thought about it. She really did. 'It' being her hands wringing Foaly's neck.

When he saw the look on her face, he backed up and nearly tripped over her unmade bed. "Well, I kept hinting at it."

She slumped in on herself. "How long do we have?"

He grinned again. "The med records show I'm out with a case of food poisoning. My complaint is speeding its way to the Cop Café as we speak."

She couldn't hold back a laugh; it felt good. Cop Café was the free buffet for LEP officers, with notoriously bad food. Foaly, evidently, desired some change. "Come on. Let's have a drink."

"Have any vodka?" Foaly joked, following her from the bedroom. He squatted on a beige seat-all, a lovely set of curves which could accommodate any fairy in the Lower Elements.

Holly scurried to the fridge unit and made herself busy. "How did he stop the mindwipe?" she asked, looking for thyme.

He shrugged. "No idea, but don't tell me it surprises you." He didn't need an answer, continuing regardless: "I don't know if he _actually_ knows, now. It's more of a gut instinct. But Juliet put the Eyes out."

"How?" Holly demanded, throwing ingredients into the blender, which was built into the fridge unit. "_You _said—"

"She broke it dusting."

Holly guffawed, then broke into open laughter. "_Dusting?_"

Foaly nodded forlornly. "Some of the particles must have worked its way into the electronics. I kept the feed going until she reached Artemis' room—to report to him, I believe—and then it shorted out completely."

Holly raised an eyebrow, adding a garnish of basil before passing the Italian herb freeze to the centaur. "Sounds like an accident to me. Dusting? Not Artemis' style, to be frank."

Foaly grinned and steepled his fingers. "But we don't underestimate Fowl anymore, do we? Or did you—_like_ being in his dungeon?"

Holly threw him daggers. "Low blow. Shall I return?"

His feigned innocence gave her an acceptable 'no.' "A Butler comes through the door. She looks resigned. She dusts. She knocks the vase over—a trained bodyguard and maid, mind you. She makes a beeline for the fragment with the Eyes, takes it, and goes to Artemis and father-dear. They leave after a few minutes. She goes to his room, sets it down, and the dust finally shorts it out. Artemis clearly expected the dust to short it out sooner so we'd _think _it was an accident."

"Wasn't there sound?"

Foaly squirmed in the seat-all. He had been a bit rushed in designing them. "The Eyes don't have sound. Small size, perfect transmission, no sound. It's in high definition too; latest fad in the Mud Man world right now."

Silence for a time. The herbs were a bit old, but there was nothing fairies liked better than green smoothies. Life felt best when it slipped down the throat, intense and rejuvenating in a way only fresh herbs could be.

"Is this off the record?" she asked eventually, sipping her drink.

He tipped his head. "Between friends."

"He should have kept his mouth shut."

Foaly looked at her, and smiled one of his rare smiles that weren't drop-dead ugly. "Funny. That's what Julius said too."

**:i:**

Dom laid down on his bed, arms limp at his sides. Had he been fifty years younger, the label 'teenage angst' would have been slapped on him.

The ceiling cracks were hardly fascinating. Dom was not a particularly imaginative man. They looked like Angeline's future job for him. She would complain to him, he would have to deal with the 'problem.' _He_ saw nothing wrong with cracks in ceilings. No one looked up at the ceiling unless they were in a mood.

The 'mood' could be one of several things. Boredom; rarely a problem in Fowl Manor. Grounded; that state of being was only a problem with Juliet (Artemis was not 'grounded.' He was 'detained.') Sleeping; common enough, but not with one's eyes open. Moping; Butler's current state of being.

Of course, he wouldn't _call _it moping. 'Moping' implied that there was a specific wrong against him, and that he wanted everyone to know: only Juliet 'moped'. 'Melancholy' was too sophisticated for him, giving a certain romance to the whole situation, which it certainly didn't have for him. 'Depressed' made it a condition, something pills and a shrink would cure, neither of which he would do. 'Sad' made it sound simplistic, uncomplicated. 'Unhappy' had the least implications.

Butler was 'unhappy,' because he was not happy. Very simple. No fuss in defining it. Why was he unhappy? Because he was getting old. Why was he getting old? Because he saved his Principle's life. Why did he save his Principle's life? Because that was his sworn duty.

See? Not a very complicated emotion at all.

Funny how our minds work. Always whirling for 'what-if's, those fairy-tale happy endings. When the consequences of our actions please us not, we take one of two reactions: we rationalize, or we wish. We never accept. Accepting consequences is alien to our minds; we only _speak_ of accepting.

Butler did not rationalize.

It didn't keep him from hating himself

Butler would never again leap in front of the bullet, but somehow, somewhere, he wanted to. Even if he didn't know it.

He was sadly lacking in these memories: did he remember the spin-kicks he gave the men by the whaler, did he remember holding Artemis as he cried for his father? Of course not. Foaly knew what he was doing when he wiped their memories. Butler couldn't even dream of diving into a magma chute that could hold Hawaii and dwarf its heat.

Artemis could.

**:i:**

"Dom!" Juliet cried, skidding into his room some time later. He had pulled himself from the bunk, now occupied with polishing his rifle. "Dom….!"

He looked at her. Juliet wasn't supposed to call her that when the Fowls could overhear. "Yes?" The handheld gleamed like quicksilver, polished well beyond all aesthetic standards.

"There's something wrong with Artemis."

He stared for a moment, then tucked the handheld into its holster. It couldn't be life-threatening if Juliet hadn't bothered to use the comm system. "What?"

"Okay, I went in his room, right?" She closed the door after herself, walking rapidly down the corridor. Dom had no difficulty keeping up with his crippled sister. "I get knocked out, I wake up in Artemis' goddamn _bed_, and there he is, pacing the floor. I ask him what's wrong, and he doesn't answer me, damnit, it's like I'm not even fucking _there_." She circled her right wrist with her left digits as she talked; most of her wrist bones had been reconstructed, splinter by splinter. They ached with agitation.

Dom eased a bit. "Nothing's wrong," he said. Juliet stared at him in disbelief, so he continued: "He's mad at you for coming into his room; he's giving you the silent treatment."

"No, Dom, listen, that's not it—"

"He's my Principle, I know how he reacts—"

"I was fucking _raised_ with him, this isn't the silent treatment—"

"Juliet, it's alright—"

"NO IT'S GODDAMN NOT!" she screamed at him. Her fists were clenched at her sides, her chest heaved. "Something's _wrong _with him, and you won't even _look_!"

Butler clasped her shoulders. It seemed strange that such a delicate thing could be the sister of such a giant. "I'll look."

He gave her a long look from the corner of his eyes as they continued down the hallway. Usually it took more to get her all riled up. He pondered a tête-à-tête as they ascended the grand staircase, but decided against it. She was growing up. She needed to learn to deal with her emotions herself. And besides, she needed to learn to gauge a Principle better, since she would be a Butler now that she had given up on that wrestling nonsense—

They reached the third floor, both panting slightly from the multiple flights of stairs. Neither had ever really recovered from their respective injuries. Artemis' door, sweetly simplistic after the gaudiness of the Manor in general, rose before them. It seemed strange how such a plain thing could be so intimidating. Even Butler did not take entering Artemis' private space lightly: since his father had returned, Artemis had been withdrawing increasingly into himself. Butler had once slept on the other side of the wall; now, he slept on the other side of the Manor.

He knocked, once, twice, thrice, to the rhythm of Artemis' favorite Vivaldi concerto. It was something of a joke between them; back when Artemis had been 'Arty' to all, he would spend hours with his Principle, listening to him jabber on in the toddler tongue about Bach and Schubert. Later, as a headstrong eight-year old, he had demanded privacy. The secret knock was installed in response.

He hadn't used it years. Some seconds later, an answer, the cello and string continuo dark and lucid from Artemis' computer. Even a classical ignoramus could find beauty in Yo-Yo Ma's powerful playing; especially in that darkest of keys, G minor.

Butler gave his sister a look. "See?"

She shook her head. Her eyes were red, as if she were about to cry; with the mascara smeared, they looked deep-set and wearied. "No, Dom—"

Artemis opened the door, gesturing for them to enter. The hard lines and neutral colors should have been no more welcoming than before—yet the drapes had been cast aside, though; the gold afternoon light of Ireland made the place warm and near home-like. Even the piano seemed balmy: the dust glinted like fool's gold strewn over black silk, and a quixotic shadow was cast over the ivory keys.

Artemis stood there. He rarely looked happy nowadays; yet he had his characteristic half-smile, mysterious and vaguely feline. Gone was the strange-glazed eye look, the muttering lips. He almost seemed… normal. For Artemis Fowl, granted, but… still...

"Yes?" he asked, voice lukewarm.

Dom looked at Juliet. Juliet didn't look at Dom. Her eyes were out-of-focus, aimed at Artemis' head yet not quite shooting daggers.

"Nothing," Butler said at last. "Juliet was worried about you, so I brought her up here to show everything was fine—"

Juliet's eyes snapped into focus again, glaring at her brother, and did something no one else ever had before or ever would again do:

She slapped him.

It was awkward, at best. She had to stretch to reach the bottom half of his cheek, and her toes were poised in such a way any Prima Donna would be proud. No red mark was left, since at that range nothing could hurt, and the movement was hardly sudden. Simply… unexpected.

But it's the thought that counts, right? Slapping a brother who never understood, slapping a brother who couldn't even give a damn about what she wanted, slapping a brother who tried to mold her after his own image.

After that strange silence unique to outbursts, she turned and fled down the hallway.

Slapping a brother who had cared for her since their parents had died fifteen years ago.

Butler turned to Artemis. They shared an unspoken thought, _PMS_, and went their separate ways.

**:i:**

Foaly had dealt with everything. She really ought to thank him sometime.

On the other hand, he was the one who had messed up the mindwipe somehow.

The Council hadn't known about the 'Eye on Arty', as Foaly had christened it. Root wanted to keep it that way; her excuse for heading up was investigating illegal nonconsensual exchange of terrestrial artifacts: in layman's words, seeing if the goblins had been buying gameboys off of suburban boys again. Foaly would edit video feed from a similar recon to put into the official file.

She had only the best to handle the best. Opal's patent on the DoubleDex had been revoked; Foaly's latest wing system had the best of both designs (though he had sniffed at the idea of copying Koboi.) The suit had just been serviced; it felt like silk as she slipped it on. As a rule, LEP suits _never _felt comfortable. She liked seeing that rule broken. Her Neutrino was a prototype tailored especially for dealing with Mud Men, including new settings for 'child' and 'adult'—she set it to the latter. Artemis was, after all, an adult by LEP standards. Or maybe she just wanted to see him fry a bit. He wouldn't mind. They were friends, after all.

She chuckled humorlessly. As if she could be friends with a mind that didn't exist anymore.

_No, just suppressed,_ her mind whispered traitorously back.

"Foaly?" she asked the headpiece, desperate for some ambience.

"Yeah?" He had been experimenting with Mud Man slang lately. He could say 'you' in Polish and follow it with fifty-three possible translations of 'D'Arvit', each in a distinct dialect of the Chinese language family.

_I must be desperate_, she thought grimly, and asked, "How do I know Koboi isn't controlling my Neutrino from her coma?"

He exploded first in Middle English, digressed to Old, then hopped a language tree over to en Français and Español. The ambience of his rant was enough to drown out her thoughts as the green hills of Ireland rolled beneath her, streaked with blood in the premature sunset.

**:i:**

This is the second version of this chapter. Nothing major was cut; typos and phrasings were cleaned out a bit, and a few orphan paragraphs were murdered due to their reiteration in later chappies.

Something quick: other _Greensleeves _fans will note the odd lyrics. Many lyrics were made to that lovely melody over the ages, including the particular rendition (written by some English king—I forget who) that McKennitt sings which I have used.

Thanks for reading yet another chapter! Constructive criticism is a godsend, and will be taken into account in the next revision.


	3. Confrontational

D E S C E N T

- Dim Aldebaran -

Chapter Three

_In the velvet of darkness_

_by the silhouette of silent trees,_

_they are watching, they are waiting,_

_they are witnessing life's mysteries._

"Night Ride Across the Caucasus"

Loreena McKennitt

**:i:**

Juliet cried. She wasn't ashamed of it. She never was.

Juliet had always cried a lot. Puberty didn't help. Ko had taught her to hold it back for a time; but, sometime, somewhere, somehow, Juliet would cry, and there would be Hell to pay if anyone caught her crying.

Artemis had caught her crying once, when he was still that innocent, careless boy named Arty. Angeline had shouted at her for breaking a rope of her prized pearls—she couldn't hold back the fat, sticky tears until her bedroom across the Manor. She instead sought refuge in a spare room. She dropped to the parquet, sobbing. The hot tears shattered on the floor, like those broken pearls, strewn as a trail of stars.

And then _he _came to the door, those big blue eyes so curious, so innocent still. He had been eight. She hadn't been too mature. She screamed for him to leave—but even after the door closed she knew his ear was pressed against the oak paneling, listening for her half-gasping sobs. The next day, she put habanera peppers into his marmalade. She laughed so hard as he asked in a strained little voice for milk.

You get the picture.

She didn't like people seeing her cry.

She didn't have to resort to a spare room this time. She had gotten better at holding it in. She slammed her door, locking it behind her, and collapsed onto her bed. Her bedroom was not like Fowl's or Butler's; Angeline had had it decorated bright oranges and pinks, her current suite of favorite colors. The pillows were perfect for crying into—super-absorbent, soft, squishy.

She didn't notice when the drapes began to flutter as the window opened, then closed with a silence Mulch Diggums would have envied.

In fact, he _did _envy it. He was one of the few fairies who had seen Holly in action before.

**:i:**

Holly was the only one with a standing invitation to Fowl Manor.

She hated being special, at times.

Juliet's window had proved difficult. Chrysanthemum bushes are hardly pleasant to climb through. She had thought the sound of her flop to the floor would have alerted the younger Butler, but she was too busy with something else.

That 'something' was a habit Holly seldom indulged in. Seeing Juliet, hunched over, bald, heavily scarred, sobbing into her pillow like a child, struck Holly in too many places at once to be properly absorbed. Bald? Scarred? Sobbing?

One of the things that made Holly such a good LEPrecon officer was her quickness to act, her unhesitating performance on the field. She did what any elf would do:

She went over to Juliet, and handed her a Kleenex box.

Elves were emotional creatures, after all.

Juliet didn't notice the levitating box, at first. She took a tissue, blew into it, threw it to the floor, then grabbing another one. Holly wrinkled her nose—Mud Men were such _filthy _creatures—and bent to pick up the used tissue.

She threw it into the trash, watching Juliet. The Butler plucked another tissue from the box, staring at the haze Holly made. She blew her nose, still watching, and threw the tissue. It floated in midair, wavering—then reversed direction and splattered across Juliet's face. Some details are best left undescribed.

"For Frond's sake, Juliet, use the trash can. That's just disgusting."

The tissue box settled itself onto the tangerine duvet. The trash can scraped itself besides the bed. The door opened, and closed.

Juliet's tears had stopped during all this. They started again as she peeled the used tissue from her forehead. God must hate her. He had sent a poltergeist to torment her.

Holly, in the meantime, was none too happy. She feared the sponges in her ears would close, for all Root's ranting.

"She was _crying_, sir."

"So you blow our cover, Captain?" Root roared. She could almost smell the fungus cigars. "If she hadn't recovered her memories before, she will have now."

_Maybe she should keep them this time_.

_It's probably _our _fault she's crying anyway_.

Root continued: "May I remind you, Captain, that the Butlers are extremely dangerous. You're lucky to have caught her in such a state. You might have another two seconds before she sounds the alarm."

Holly gritted her teeth and sprinted up the stairs. Juliet's wavering cry of, "_Dom!_" drifted after her. There goes her two seconds.

Artemis' room was on the third story. All she had to do was get a glimpse of him with her iris cam. Foaly could do the rest from there, whatever it was he did.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she looked back. There was nothing. Fowl Manor was as eerily quiet as it had been last time.

_Before the troll came_, she reminded herself.

_No troll here now_.

_No Butler either._

Juliet must have surely warned Butler, but where was the thunderous manservant?

Root broke her silence: "Use those girly legs of yours, D'Arvit!"

She did. At the end of the hall, strangely malevolent, was the door.

A thought struck her: "Ah, sir?"

"What?" Root barked.

"What if it's a trap?"

"Then it's a trap," Foaly replied. "Artemis won't hurt you, though. You're practically best friends." She could see his budding grin.

"How do you know?" she snapped, her bitterness surprising even herself.

The silence at the other end was equally surprising. Even Root seemed lost for a response.

"Open the door," Foaly said at last.

"_I _give the orders around here," Root said. His voice didn't have the same 'bark' to it.

"Whatever, Julius."

Root ignored that stoically. "Whenever you're ready, Captain."

_One glimpse_, Holly thought_, that's all I need._

_One glimpse._

_That's all._

She opened the door, and out came an angel.

It twisted and twirled in midair, capering around like some faun from the old days, dancing, dancing, careless, dusting the air it passed through and making it sparkle with a strange light. Each curve of the phrase made her want to smile, and each whip of the notes made her yearn to laugh.

She stepped forward, trapped in a spell. Frond, it was beautiful. She never knew Artemis knew how to play the piano like _this_…

It seemed a sin, suddenly, to have violated the mind of an artist.

Foaly and Root were saying things into her ear. She reached into her helmet and turned them off. She didn't know these things could be done with seven simple notes, she didn't know the mere compression of matter could be so very alive—

The music twisted to the side, jerked into a minor key by an invisible assailant. The arpeggios spiraled downwards, thick and passionate, blood going down the drain.

_Frond, it's so beautiful…_

Artemis was a ghost, a blur of white in front of the great blackness of the piano. His shirt was soaked with sweat.

Darker, darker, went the sound. She could drown in its depths, drown and drown happily. Hell, she'd dive in.

Another step. Artemis was hunched over the ivory keys like an old man; but no old man would know such passion, no old man would remember it with the clarity Artemis expressed. The sharpness of the sound pierced her heart and made it clench in pain.

Step.

His hair was uncharacteristically messy, hanging loose and lank around his face. His body followed the music up and down the keys, leaning, straining, yearning. The lean white fingers could not be ten alone, surely, for they seemed to be everywhere at once, pressing keys with a sort of intuitive madness. The power, the speed of them was so unnatural it seemed only a fairy should be that sort of virtuoso.

They fell down, impossibly far, whirling with the wind that would end the world. If this was dying, she did it gladly, the song of death too sweet for her to possibly deny. There was only one word for the music Artemis played, only one word for what it was.

"The descent," Juliet whispered into her ear. "The descent of Artemis Fowl."

Holly whirled around. Juliet was looking at _her_, right at her eyes.

But the way Juliet looked at her, that curiously sad, bittersweet look, told the world to her. The music spiraled, out of control now, but Holly found herself caught by a very different spell.

Holly opened her mouth to say something, anything, but Juliet shook her head. "Artemis can't hear us anymore," she whispered, her voice nearly lost in the torrent.

Holly looked at Artemis. He was enraptured by the music, spirited away by something no one understood.

"We need to talk," Holly murmured.

Wordlessly, Juliet led Holly out of the room, closing the door behind her.

**:i:**

Angeline was considered a very happy person. Her face, though still rather young-looking, had smiles within the faint creases, ready to burst out and beam like a lighthouse. She took meticulous care of her teeth so her smile glistened, and wisps of chocolate hair framed her twinkling eyes. She was still a very pretty lady, especially considering all she had gone through.

Very little was now demanded of the mistress of Fowl Manor.

It bored her terribly.

She trailed through the Manor. Most stay-at-home moms would have cleaning to do, but Fowl Manor had two surrogate 'moms' to do the duties for her. Angeline lived too far from town to join a book club or the like, and she had neither the skills nor the desire for a job.

For a time each day she could devote herself to breakfast, turning morning reveries into an art form. She slept in every morning, until the sun sprawling across her bed woke her. Timmy would have already risen; she'd lay, thinking for a time, then take a slow bath, filling the spacious suite with the scent of patchouli, her favorite. She'd take a time to dress as well, pondering this and that, fretting over her age and her worn curves.

It would be eleven before she drifted down the grand staircase to breakfast. Timmy would be there, reading the newspaper; they'd smile at each other in that routine way less loving couples bore of, and sip their tea and nibble at their marmalade toast. She always managed to find herself in Timmy's eyes, where all was perfect bliss.

But Timmy always had to work. The sweetness of the morning would evaporate as he left for his study; she'd spend the rest of the day lost, wandering around the Manor, struggling to reclaim that golden innocence, that wonderful, honey-like viscosity that time reserved for mornings.

Her 'look' was almost Victorian; she looked proper, smelt proper, sounded proper. Her voice was carefully cheery, sweet as a schoolgirl's. Patchouli was subtly sensual, a full, sweet scent that she'd dab at her throat; but it was an old scent, a classic scent. Her petite hands flitted around like courting wrens, at the folds of her dress, at her sleeves, to her hair.

She had grown fond of interior decorating. Her current consultant was teaching her the art of feng shui, and she'd lose herself into the chi of each room for hours at a time. Or, at least, she'd try to. Her thoughts were restless; some rooms were abandoned in the middle of a paint-job, antique furniture covered with dusty white sheets, ghosts of a home.

Fowl Manor was vast. Some days she'd just wander about, listless, gazing at Fowls from ages past. _Is Timmy really one of these monsters?_ she'd wonder, thinking of her kind, smiling husband, and then she'd think some more and see those austere white faces with their cold blue eyes and walk away red-eyed.

She feared for her Timmy, at times. Even though he was going legit, he was engrossed in his work; they barely even had the nights together, for he'd slip into bed worn and tired.

It was nearing dinnertime. She could go talk to Juliet, perhaps—but even before the accident she refused, almost scorned her help in any chore. Juliet had never been too fond of her, which nearly broke Angeline's heart, since Angeline looked upon her like a daughter…

Angeline paused. Before her was the painting that haunted her dreams; the painting of _her_, Angeline Madeline Fowl.

Angeline hated her portrait. The smile was painted on, not real at all, and even in her wedding dress she looked sad and reluctant; and surely the artist did not have to exaggerate those lines of care, so early on her face, surely he did not have to predict such pain… And Timmy was nowhere to be seen, she was alone, so alone, against the backdrop of black drapes like that in a funeral home.

All Fowls had their portraits done. The walls of Fowl Manor could be read like a genealogy, and each portrait like a memoir.

She didn't want that portrait to be her life's story.

The music came to her in slow waves, draping itself across her ears with increasing thickness until she could scarce breathe. It was a beautiful, evocative thing, and in the silence of Fowl Manor it came to her like a siren's song.

She was drawn from the portrait readily enough, following the corridor. She did not register it was the way to Arty's room, she did not register Juliet drifting by. The music brought something curious to her mind, something familiar yet so far away… She could not help but feel as she felt the music spiral downwards, and feel as she had not in a very long time.

The door was half-open. She went in, tugged by that quixotic music. God it was beautiful…

There was her little boy, her Arty, who looked so much like Timmy with his big blue eyes and pale, somber face that could scarce bear a smile for even an instant…

She stood there for a long time, her tears slipping down her face like notes from those precious white hands.

_That's his son_, she thought, _that's Timmy's son._

_Not my son._

**:i:**

Root turned to Foaly in the Ops Booth, which was a feat in itself: Ops Booth was a very small room, especially with a centaur who insisted on personal space. "Tell me again: why we can't get through to Holly?"

Foaly sighed. Even with Holly's sanity on the line, Root never ceased to amaze him. "She turned off the comm system."

"Why can't we turn it back on?"

"Because she turned it off."

"Why can't we turn it back on?"

"We've gone through this."

"This is **Holly** we're talking about, D'Arvit!" Root roared. His meaty hands scrabbled at his pockets for fungus cigars.

The comm system was hooked to the iris cam; turning one off turned off the other. They had nothing on Holly. Not even if she was alive or not. Root was driving himself mad with worry; and it didn't help there were no cigars in sight.

"Holly can take care of herself, Julius," Foaly replied, trying to look busy. There was no way to activate the comm system from the Lower Elements; the only remote activation on Holly was the self-destruct. Since the matter was entirely off the records anyways, Root had no intention of following regulations and using that 'just in case.'

Root glared at Foaly. His eyes were distinctly bloodshot; intrigued, Foaly looked deeper. "I want that comm system working," he barked.

"It'll have to be manual."

"Then do it."

"'Manual' means you'll have to send someone up to find Holly and flip the switch," Foaly contorted. Root seemed slower than usual today.

Root glared again. His hands fidgeted at his sides, awkward. "I want that comm system working," he repeated, and left.

Foaly stared after him for a few moments, pondering something or other. With an imperceptible sigh, he turned to the screen, bringing up the iris cam recordings.

He replayed the final minute before the system was turned off, with full sound. He zoomed in on Artemis, following the virtuoso's movements.

After an hour he turned the screen off. "Ah," he said to himself, "that's why."

**:i:**

Thanks for reading! This has been edited, albeit rather quickly. All I really did was take out this bit from Butler's POV (some people remarked that they were a little repetitive, so I've been skimming them down) and fix a few typos. So, if you have any criticisms on this specific chapter – or any chapter – feel free to remark on them, I'll certainly take them into consideration.

I hope you liked the bit with Artemis playing the piano. It was very fun to write.


	4. Worlds Apart

Chapter Four

Worlds Apart

_Your world was not mine_

_Your eyes told me so._

"The Old Ways"

Loreena McKennitt

**:i:**

Juliet brought her to the study; Holly recognized it from Foaly's vid. Shards of the vase still lay, imprinted, into the floor. She remembered how she had planted that camera on the eye of the dragon, and felt a twist of remorse—when she had planted the camera, nothing had seemed amiss in Fowl Manor, since she had not sought a final glance of Artemis at his piano, playing his soul away. What would have happened had she disobeyed orders and went for a final glance at Artemis?

Juliet took a seat, easing herself down. Holly noticed the scars for the first time, those lines like pink ribbons running all over her, and the slow jarring of her movements.

The Butler caught her stare and smiled humorlessly. "Trouble in paradise," she murmured, and laughed sharply, like a raven.

Holly remembered how they had talked about wrestling, talked with a fellow female as she had not since before the Academy, and turned her thoughts for a moment. "What happened?"

"I'm surprised you don't already know," Juliet snapped. "I thought Foaly kept an eye on us."

She was taken aback. What could she say—what could _anyone_ say?

Juliet sighed and leaned back into the stiff leather, closing her eyes. Her mascara was smeared, but she somehow managed to look good in it. Her hair was gone, those floppy gold curls tamed with a braid and jade tie. There were crinkles around her eyes, and she had lost her lush tan.

Yet she still managed to be beautiful.

Vaguely, Holly wondered if Artemis had ever noticed how beautiful Juliet was. 'Pretty' was a word for children; Juliet was no longer a child. Did Artemis ever noticed that? Or was he too lost within himself?

Holly felt a flash of envy, but buried it swiftly. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Even to her it sounded insincere.

Juliet shook her head, and opened those eyes of hers. "It doesn't matter," she murmured. "What's done is done."

Holly shook her head as well, folding her legs beneath her on an opposite chair. "No, it's not," she stated resolutely, turning back to her LEPrecon self. A hand reached up and touched her comm.; she ignored the storm of voices and let it record automatically. Foaly needed to know this. "I need you to tell me exactly what's wrong with Artemis."

"I have no goddamn idea," Juliet replied. Even the cuss sounded tired, as if she didn't even have the effort to be angry.

"Then tell what you know."

Her eyes closed again, but hardly in a peaceful way. Juliet was as old as the world right then. "I didn't know anything till today, really… it seems like forever… but it started when I broke this vase. Madame got mad at me, so I went to clean the piano in Artemis' room. I go there, and I saw—I saw the coin you gave to Artemis, the real thing, not the fake he gave to Mulch. I black out, and I wake up and there's Artemis. I've never seen him like that before—" There was a rim of tears below her closed eyes. Holly knew that purely feminine instinct to cry, and understood.

"What did he look like?" Holly queried, soft and gentle. She turned the mute on in her headpiece—_Frond_ Root could be annoying sometimes.

"He—" Juliet's voice cracked. It took her several deep breaths to continue. "He looked like a zombie. He wasn't blinking, he was just _staring_, and he was pacing too, back and forth along the same path, back and forth, back and forth, like he couldn't get out of it. He was muttering under his breath, but I couldn't hear him—"

"Did you lipread?" Holly interrupted.

A tear trickled down her cheek. "No," Juliet whispered. Her shame permeated the study. "No, I should have—I'm so sorry—"

"It's alright," Holly soothed, "it's alright. Please, continue."

Juliet nodded, sniffing her nose. Holly passed her a nearby Kleenex box with a grin; Juliet saw it and broke into open laughter, hysterical, unending. The tension loosed itself from her brow, and she continued: "I tried talking to him, but he wouldn't say anything, he just kept walking and walking… I looked at his computer, and there was a search running for a bunch of fairy things. Then I saw that there was this hidden panel thing that he had left open. I didn't look too closely, but there were fairy things in it, and he had put the coin thingy in it too. I tried talking to him again. I didn't know what to do, so I went to Dom—" She broke off, her sobs hiccupping into her hands as she turned in on herself.

"What did Dom say?" Holly asked softly, yearning to reach out and comfort her, but not quite knowing how.

Juliet looked up from her hands, her eyes red and shining. "He told me not to worry." Her voice turned sharp, bitter. "_Nothing's wrong_," she mimicked, "_It's alright, he's my Principle, he's just giving you the silent treatment_."

"Ah," Holly whispered.

Juliet's gaze snapped up to Holly's. "Don't you 'ah' me. You don't have a fucking clue, do you?"

"No, I don't," Holly responded. She looked away from the teen's fierce stare, ashamed.

"I'm sorry," the Butler said suddenly. Holly could sense the regret in her voice and forgave. "I shouldn't have said that. I know you care about Arty too, it's just that—" She broke off and looked down at her hands, fidgeting in her lap as they traced the scars.

"It's alright," she said. She slid off her chair and went over to Juliet and hugged her; it was awkward, at best, but she didn't give a damn. Juliet didn't seem to either, holding her tightly in response and crying into her shoulder. She must have felt like a doll to her.

Juliet sniffled and withdrew after a time, reaching for the Kleenex. She tossed the used tissues to the floor, breaking into a smile at Holly's glare. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Holly replied dryly. "Truth be told, I'm not much better."

Juliet's smile widened, and she reached out and hugged the fairy again. "Thank you so much," she whispered into Holly's ear, squeezing her tightly.

Holly let her for a few moments, then drew away. She didn't like being a ragdoll. "Shall we talk to Foaly?" she asked. "He'll have an idea of what's going on with Artemis, if anyone."

Juliet nodded. "I bet I can reconfigure the conference room that we used last time."

She moved to leave, but Holly stopped her. "One thing."

Juliet looked at her questioningly. "What is it?"

"Does Dom know?"

A frown crossed Juliet's face. "I—I don't know," she said. Her thoughts were blatant as they passed in turn across her face: _did Artemis tell him already, is that why he didn't care, is it all an act, am I not 'mature' enough for them, what's wrong with me, what's wrong with me—_

Holly tugged on Juliet's sleeve, turning her shield on. "Let's keep this between us for now," she said stoically. "Let's see what Foaly thinks first."

**:i:**

Dom had eased himself from the bed for rounds. Even a weak man like himself could manage those. If anything was amiss, all he had to do was call for help.

The mere idea of help disgusted him. A Butler should not need help guarding his Principle. It is his duty, and his duty alone. Not Juliet's, with her strange teenage moods; but that was the only one in the Manor capable of toting a gun, and he was horrifically reliant.

In his mind, he turned over the thousand situations Juliet could never cope with. She hadn't been ready for her blue diamond, yet already she protected the greatest Principle one could ever have the honor of guarding. Juliet would fail him, would fail Ko, would fail the Butlers—would fail _him_.

Out of all the situations he had faced, this was the least fair.

He started on the second floor, looking into each room, each unfinished project of Angeline's. Artemis' father—in his mind, he called him Master Fowl—was blinded by his faith in Artemis to get him another bodyguard. Artemis would never give up crime; it was in his blood since the moment he had seen the Fowl audit at three years old. Maybe it would be a little more subtle, a little more moral, but people would still get mad. Very mad.

Even if Artemis listened to his father and went legit, there was always the past. How many people had Artemis ruined, had Artemis killed? Men and their demise slipped past Butler's eyes like a hard rain, and felt his chest clench. Artemis drove men mad, Artemis had _power_. If God lived on earth, people may break his windows—but windows were such a paltry thing compared to the breaking of the human life.

His thoughts were interrupted by—music, of all things, strange, ethereal music, the likes of which he had never heard before.

Butler was not a man of music, but he reserved a special fondness for the piano. His fondest memories, receiving his blue diamond asides, were of listening to Artemis play, unaware of any audience. After Master Fowl… left, Artemis stopped playing. Angeline was in no shape to play the great harpsichord in the parlor: Fowl Manor was silent.

And Juliet had said something was wrong?—she was clearly out of tune with her future Principle.

He took the stairs upwards, his slowness of movement only an excuse to listen. It sounded airy and sweet, like cirrus clouds in a summer sky, wispy, pure, untroubled.

He reached the corridor. At the end of the hall was the door, ajar. He could almost see the music drifting out like the dream of French vanilla.

The pattering of the keys caressed his mind as he reached the door and opened it the rest of the way. Madame Fowl was already there, watching her son at the piano.

When she saw another spectator, she turned and smiled, putting a finger to her lips with one hand while beckoning with the other. Artemis played on, oblivious, intent on the keys before him.

Butler leaned against the wall next to Madame Fowl, a smile coming to him as the sweet sound toyed with his senses. Artemis closed the piece with a rippling chord, like a choir of innocents, and turned. "Did you like it?"

Madame Fowl smiled at her son. "That was beautiful, Arty. What is it called?"

His eyes smiled at his mother. He looked oddly… boyish, his skin soft and luminous in the sunlight, blue eyes wide, an angel. "I don't know yet," he replied. His voice was warm like Darjeeling in the morning, mature but not aged. "What do you think?"

Angeline pondered the question. Her smile caused lines around her eyes, but they became her. "I'd call it 'Dolce', but that's not very imaginative, is it?" She smiled again at her son, her happiness resplendent. "What does Butler think?"

Artemis turned towards his bodyguard. "I'm not any good at naming things," he said—did he sound _sheepish_?

Butler turned thoughtful. "It wouldn't do it justice," he said truthfully after a pause.

Artemis smiled; he seemed… embarrassed. "It's still rather rough," he said. "I'll need to change some of the slower passages. They're a little awkward yet."

"It sounds wonderful as it is," said Madame Fowl. "You don't need to change it at all."

Artemis pondered this for a moment, then shook his head. "I want it to be perfect. I'd like to start publishing music—Father said that I should be doing constructive work if I wanted to help the family name."

Madame Fowl's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Alright," she murmured. "Just don't push yourself too hard, okay?"

He nodded, standing up. "I won't," he replied. And then, to Butler, "When is dinner?"

Butler shrugged as only giants can. "Juliet's taking some alone time," he said. "I'll start on it right away."

Artemis smiled at him, and the world was quiet. Artemis was so content, suddenly, so…

_Human_.

There was nothing wrong with Artemis Fowl.

He was a just a boy, finding his place, safe with his family.

Butler felt that unique feeling most call 'warm 'n' fuzzy,' strange for the bodyguard who didn't remember the faces of those he killed. Artemis may be his Principle, but he was more than that.

**:i:**

There weren't too many cables to connect. Things in the Fowl Manor were kept simple, if possible. Angeline, as part of her feng shui hobby, insisted that clutter be kept to an absolute minimum. Artemis Fowl the First simply could not manage electronics; before he had… gone, his son, who fell in love with wireless at age four, dealt with such things. Butler only cared about the cameras, and Juliet had never bothered before.

The particular study Juliet had chosen was what Artemis often referred to as the War Room. There was a conference table in teak and rosewood stretching down the center, custommade so at the touch of a remote various gadgets would pop out. Many of the panels in the sides slid back to show hi-def televisions, and—for the sheer heck of it—surround sound could be added. Juliet found the whole deal far more impressive than most theaters.

She went to the 'throne,' Artemis' chair at the head of the table. A panel on the armrest slid back to show the various buttons that controlled the place. Back when things were a little more innocent, she often snuck into the room to play around—and not just to watch wrestling on the main screen, which the size of a small theater's. She knew the buttons of the place in and out—all she had to do know was to turn them on.

The button was inconspicuous. The machines of the room collectively provided a lovely ambient hum.

Holly turned the mute off in her helmet. "Foaly?"

There was a sound of a scuffle—she grinned as she imagined Foaly and Root scrabbling for the chair. Foaly won. "Yes?"

In the background, Root was roaring. He sounded like a drunkard—Holly was half-glad that she couldn't hear whatever it was he was saying. "We're in the conference room."

"Obviously," the centaur snapped. Holly winced. Shutting him off like that had not been the wisest thing for their friendship—a friend showing such utter disregard meant a lot when there weren't too many friends there to begin with.

Below Root's ranting, there was the tap of keys. He appeared on the screen shortly after, slightly disheveled. "Yes?"

Holly sat down in one of the chairs, turning towards Juliet. "Will anyone else know we're in here?"

Juliet shook her head. "Soundproof. Plus I locked the door." She examined Root, intrigued. "You look different."

Root glared. "You look bald," he shot back, and turned to Holly. Seeing him glower at three times his normal size on the screen was terrifying, and she squirmed in her seat. "I'm disappointed in you, Captain, but we can save that for later. Talk."

Holly's stomach sank as she spoke: "Juliet broke the Eye on accident."

Foaly snorted in disbelief, but she continued: "But something's wrong with Artemis. I don't know what, but—you've seen the vids, right?"

"He's just a Mud Boy," Root scoffed.

Foaly shook his head. "This could be bad." Addressing Juliet: "You say he had Holly's coin?"

Juliet nodded. Root muttered something under his breath about how he knew it was a fake. "And there was that search running on his computer."

Foaly reached under his desk, retrieving a carrot from his mini fridge. Carrots helped you think, his mother had always said. "Hmm."

"'Hmm'?" Juliet demanded, suddenly wrathful. "That's all you have? This is _Artemis_, damnit, there's something wrong with him—"

"It's alright," Holly said. "Foaly'll think of something." She looked at the screen. Foaly hadn't seemed to have heard. "Right?" she asked loudly.

Foaly jerked out of his reverie. "Right," he said absently. "Now, I'm no expert on the Mud Man mind, it's basically the same as that of a Fairy. Most of the major disorders correspond to each other."

They all nodded, knowing in a few moments they would be utterly lost.

"The easiest explanation is that Artemis is now insane. _But what type of insanity? _you may ask, and that is a more difficult question. Maybe he has a serious case of split personalities—that would explain why Butler was nonplussed when Artemis treated him warmly. The problem is that he would then not recognize any of you; Butler would be someone to be feared, not a familiar friend.

"It could also be depression. Lots of genii get it; a rite of passage, if you will. You commit suicide, you aren't stable enough to be beneficial to the world in general. Sucks to be you. You live, you will go on and become a household name. Lots of endorsements. Of course, genii aren't the most stable of people…"

"Are you saying Artemis just needs a shrink?" Juliet demanded.

Foaly cocked his head and smiled. "No, shrinks don't work for people like us."

Holly swallowed. _Like us_. She had never really wondered what went through Foaly's head, beneath the tin foil hat, beneath the arrogance. She supposed she had always thought that was all there was.

Of course, she had once thought greed was all Artemis had.

"Then what?" Holly asked.

"Assuming it's depression, we drug him. Prozac would do nicely. Angeline probably has a bottle lying around somewhere."

"And if he's insane?"

Foaly grinned, showing his teeth. He managed to look more frightening than comical. "Then he's coming home."

A silence. Juliet broke it: "Doesn't Prozac make teens suicidal?"

Foaly shrugged. "Then Artemis dies."

"I can stay," Holly blurted out. "I can watch him."

"Out of the question!" Root said. "This is off the record as it is!"

"I'll cover for her," Foaly replied. "Recons aren't very difficult to fake. She could be… doing soil analyses."

"Soil analyses," Root said, disbelieving. "D'Arvit _soil analyses_."

"Fine," Foaly said impatiently. "She can analyze a septic tank for all I care."

Root shook his head. "The answer is 'no.' I don't want Short involved in this business."

Foaly turned and gave Root a hard look. They were oddly oblivious to Holly and Juliet; they watched, fascinated. "She's going to help Artemis," Foaly said stubbornly. "Or else."

Had Root been a kettle, he would have whistled—but his response went unsaid. Holly would have killed a dozen trolls to know what made Root back down. "Fine," he mumbled, fumbling for a cigar. "I don't like this, though."

Juliet beamed; had Root been there in person, she would have hugged him like a ragdoll. Root not being there, she settled on hugging Holly instead. "Thank you so much! You have no idea how much this means to me."

Root grimaced. "No funny business, now."

Holly nodded over Juliet's shoulder. "Yessir."

"I want you back in Recon by the end of the week."

"Yessir. I will be sir."

Root did an odd thing then—he sighed. "I don't like this."

"No," Foaly said, "you don't like Artemis, and you don't like Artemis because he's a genius." He snatched another carrot. He deserved two for that diagnosis of his. "That's also why you don't like me."

Root said nothing. He left.

Holly freed herself from Juliet. "Do you think it's the same thing Angeline had?" she asked.

Foaly shrugged. "Maybe. I'd have to ask Argon."

Holly grimaced. "If the drugs don't work, I'll try fixing him the same way I fixed his mother."

Foaly finished the carrot with a flourish. "Buzz me if anything interesting happens. I'm heading home."

Holly nodded, and turned to Juliet. "I'll see you at dinner," she said, and faded from sight.

**:i:**

That was a particularly yucky chapter… I'll go back and edit stuff later. Now that it's holidays, I can update and update and update. Mlhehehehe.

I have a forum for updates and stuff now. I'll post news and (hopefully) useful stuff regarding my stories there, so I won't be writing these obnoxious notes at the end.

Happy Holidays!


	5. Little Human Boys

Chapter Five

_I hear some distant drumbeat,  
a heartbeat pulsing low  
Is it coming from within,  
a heartbeat I don't know?_

"Breaking the Silence"

Loreena McKennitt

**:i:**

Foaly had always had a morbid fascination for psychology. He supposed it stemmed from his habit of Watching People, but he was certain a psychologist would add some Freudian theories to the 'why'. So, Foaly avoided psychologists. He preferred self-diagnosis.

For example: he had diagnosed himself with, not paranoia as one might think, but ADHD: it wasn't that he believed the CIA was spying on him, it was the he couldn't stop thinking about tin hats. He had made it when he was three, running tests on electrical conductivity in the kitchen. He had never left it far from sight since.

The idea of the CIA and their 'brain-probing rays' had stemmed from when he had first arrived in the Police Plaza:

"Hey, donkey! What's with the hat? 'fraid it's gonna rain underground?"

He had provided a suitably sarcastic remark.

Paranoid!Foaly was born.

He hadn't been given more than his fair share of paranoia. If he was more cautious than the average fairy, then it was due to an upped ante. However, it was easier for others to believe in his paranoia versus the more complex problem of ADHD, so he let them be.

He knew there were treatments for ADHD. The problem was that they weren't any more sophisticated than those diagnosed for snot-nosed Mud Midgets—in other words, he couldn't lose his socially unacceptable behaviors without sacrificing his self-acclaimed creative genius.

He could live with the ADHD. Though his habits annoyed him at times, none were particularly destructive. His cleanliness kept him healthy; his hatred for group gatherings kept his relationships to a manageable few. His need for Certain Items could be answered easily and cheaply.

However, that same ADHD led to… other problems. He had no romantic interest, which took a little rationalizing to make himself feel better about that distinct lack. His genius made it even harder for him to relate to less 'gifted' fairies.

It wasn't a big problem, though.

Really, compared to most, Foaly was actually very stable.

Honest.

Now, most psychologists would not define him as 'healthy'. 'Stable' is a rather careful wording. He had been in roughly the same state for three centuries. However, by most psychologist's standards, he was a very sick centaur. He had few relationships, no romantic interests, quite an ego, no regular contact with family, and an extreme dislike of psychologists.

Now, he liked psychology. Just not psychologists. He kept a keen eye on both Mud Men and fairy publications on the matter, especially having to do with genii. He was ever eager to know how others thought his mind worked.

Foaly had been rather disappointed when Artemis had simply submitted to the mind wipe, but when he discovered of his clever little deal with Mulch, he almost didn't mind that Artemis had hacked into his system without him even noticing. He didn't care enough to tell Julius of it. Artemis was perhaps the only other mind in the world that rivaled his; part of him had the rather irrational hope that they could just sit down and talk someday.

When Juliet had broken the Eye on Arty, he had been bouncing off the walls—Root had assumed it was with nervousness, but it was really with glee. He had delighted in Artemis' wits, preparing for another skirmish even as he watched the music of the next Mozart ensnare Holly's mind. Root's worry had only been frosting on the carrot cake.

When Juliet and Holly explained matters, he was still quite excited by the turn of events. Delving into Artemis' mind would be, in all likelihood, the most difficult and engrossing thing Foaly would ever involve himself in, and he found himself curiously frightened of what he would find. Was Artemis like Foaly's younger self, lost and alone and still so very much a child—or was he tired of it all, and had the weight of his depression collapsed his mind and fractured it into a strange and twisted mishmash of conventional disorders—some genetic disorder, never seen before, granting him genius and giving him a greater burden yet—or perhaps the outside pressures, unseen forces from his environment, his family, friends, made his mind implode and collapse in on itself—or, most intriguing of all, was it all a hoax to some terrible, beautiful end?

And so, Foaly hunkered down at home to think, with a fridge full of carrots, a large glass of lemon water, and recorder for his thoughts. He would know Artemis better than his own left hand by the time the night was through.

**:i:**

Juliet slipped into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe. Dom was making borsch. Perhaps it wasn't the most refined meal in the world, but Angeline encouraged 'ethnic dishes.' "Dom?"

He turned around. Juliet nearly slipped off the frame when she saw the small, subtle smile on his lips. "Yes?"

She took a deep breath, feeling the Ziploc of ground Prozac against her arm. She had always been good at sleight-of-hand. "Can I help?"

"Sure," he said, and tossed her a butcher's knife as if it were a mere toy. She caught it, momentarily angry, but then she grinned: he did as Ko had, throwing daggers to improve reflexes. "Cut the beef into squares for me."

"Yes, _brother_," she replied, playing on his good mood—

He turned from the beets and smiled in a way he had not done for years. Artemis rarely saw Dom smile; it was a wonderful thing, like a dentist with a bag of cotton candy hidden in the drawer.

The smile left her stunned, and all she could do was laugh in response, open and free.

"You'll never finish the beef that way," Dom said. He had lost interest in cubing the beets and now faced his younger sister.

She pondered the knife, looking at her smile in the reflection. Even being conscious of it failed to make it diminish. "I'd rather eat it raw."

"I should send you back to Ko," he replied, wagging his eyebrows. Juliet's chest clenched—this was how Dom used to be, her big brother and papa, rolled into one, always smiling and joking. "You have been learning uncivilized habits from Artemis."

"Ah, Arty?" Juliet said with a wicked grin. She speared the beef slab with a vicious thrust and heaved it aloft, impaled. "Yes, he's quite the barbarian."

Dom laughed as his sister licked the meat juice from the knife as it dripped from the beef. "Yes, it's to Ko with you."

Her eyes darted up, wide and astonished. "Ko's? You wouldn't!"

Her heart broke as he smiled again, staring up at the ceiling. "I've heard she misses having a Butler around. We wouldn't want an old lady to be lonely, would we?"

She laughed and slid the beef slab onto a cutting board. Her fingers dripped with blood and she laughed. "Alright, alright! If I cut this here beef, can the 'old lady' be lonely for a few more years?"

He appeared to ponder it for a moment. "Well…"

She made puppy eyes at him; it had always been particularly effective.

"Alright," he said, and turned to attack the beets.

She did the beef automatically, slicing it into great cubes as her thoughts swirled like the stew's rich steam. Dom had always behaved very differently around her than he did in times of stress. Even with Artemis he dared not joke around as he did with her. Theirs had always been a happy, golden relationship.

Artemis' little 'adventures' had changed it all. Everything had such a gloom on it after the _Fowl Star _had sank; the Major, Artemis Senior's bodyguard, had been one of the few Butlers still alive. Juliet left for Ko for a few years then, and had little contact with her brother. When her blue diamond tattoo had been denied of her, Juliet went straight from Ko's to a mindwipe. Dom's curious new weakness kept him a gray mood—she could not laugh with him anymore.

She would think she would be bitter of Artemis, but strangely enough she wasn't—all she felt now was worry, worry that it wasn't mere depression, worry she could do nothing.

She laughed humorlessly to herself, the golden euphoria of before clearing a little. She was already treating him as if he were her Principle, as Dom wanted her to—he knew he wouldn't be able to protect Artemis all his life. Juliet, perhaps, would.

The irony was sickening, really.

Juliet didn't want to spend her whole life catering to Artemis' every need.

Yet her she was, cooking his dinner in his house with his things with a dose of Prozac up her sleeve.

She tossed the beef into the broth, smelling the rich aroma exuded. Borsch was one of her favorite dishes. Before her parents had died they'd cook it for her, and she'd think of Dom, off protecting the prodigy infant while she was at home with her family.

Butler dropped the beets in and stirred. "Can you peel the potatoes? Just drop them in where you're done."

She nodded, acquiescing.

Slipping the Prozac into his bowl would be the last thing she'd ever do for the Fowls.

**:i:**

After the Fowl dinner, having been fed by Juliet in the kitchen, Holly made a beeline for Artemis' room. The door was ajar, and a warm evening wind was blowing past from the open window.

She came in and looked around. Last time she had entered she had been too entranced by the music to note her surroundings; yet she found it quite to her taste. Spartan, yet the warm lighting provided a sense of richness to it. The burgundy drapes by the window focused the room on the grand piano in front of it, instead of anything related to an actual bedroom.

It stood there, surprisingly elegant for such a bulky thing. It looked at home in its half of the room… it had a sense of belonging to it, which Holly had always had a difficult time giving to her own furniture. The sweeping black curves and the sweet ivory of the keys made it beautiful, and the lack of music exuding from it made it quite quixotic.

She looked around. There was a door undoubtedly leading to the john; she suppressed a shudder. Honestly, doing the business _inside_…

The left and center of the room was dominated by the piano and grand window. On the right stood a handsome mahogany rolltop desk with a computer; next to that, squashed against the wall, was the twin-sized bed with a maroon duvet.

In that bed was Artemis Fowl, sleeping.

Holly smiled to herself and stepped closer. He slept in a tight fetal position, curled as if so very afraid. Even the thick duvet could not hide his slim form—he was still a little boy. All that was visible, framed with mussed black hair like a halo of shadows, was his pale face.

She stepped closer still, musing. His eyes were clenched shut; she could tell his eyes were moving in REM sleep. His lashes were somewhat long for a boy's; when awake, they made his startling eyes stand out all the more. His skin glowed against the richness of the red duvet. He looked like a child, he was a child.

She scooched the chair by the computer over towards the bed. It was difficult to believe scarce two hours ago he had played the piano and stolen her soul.

Something strange had happened when she heard that song. Something had… clicked, like two puzzle pieces snapping together to form the final picture. It was quite irrational of her. It didn't even make sense—why would a song played by a pubescent, snot-nosed megalomaniac do anything to her other than provide a strange, esoteric memory?

She wasn't even sure what had 'clicked' in her. She felt no different towards Artemis other than a friend's worry, so she knew it wasn't infatuation. Her respect towards the power of music had expanded, certainly, with Artemis' masterful command over her soul for those brief moments. And her philosophy towards life? Unchanged. She took it as it came, and preferred to idealize.

Whatever it was, she was sure she would find out later.

For now, she had someone to babysit.

Watching his eyelids flicker bored her after a while. She considered poking around on his computer, but then realized he probably had all sorts of ugly traps in case someone did just that. She was dying to try out the piano, but Artemis was undoubtedly a light sleeper.

She explored the john briefly, morbidly fascinated by its contents. Mud Men hygienic products were laced with harmful chemicals; she marveled that Artemis refused to use them. It only interested her for a half hour or so, and she drifted out, taking her seat by Artemis again.

He was unchanged. He could have been an angel by the dimmed lights of the room.

Completely unchanged.

His eyelids were still flickering.

Holly knew very little about medical things, but she knew it wasn't normal for an REM cycle to last so long. She slipped into the john and contacted Foaly.

"Wake up, donkeyboy."

She waited five minutes for Foaly to respond before she left him a short audio message about Artemis' REM cycle. She didn't think it was too urgent, but he might be able to use it to diagnose Artemis better.

After that, she pondered his face for a while more, wondering what he was dreaming about so vividly—she suspected it was a nightmare from the way his brow clenched, the way his eyes seemed so determined not see, the way his breathing was so variable.

_Poor guy_, she thought. She had relatively little to have nightmares about—her father had died, but it had been peaceful, and over a period of time that struck a perfect balance between the angsty helplessness of a drawn out death and the abrupt jarr and blame-game of a quick one. She adapted to trauma quickly and almost never dreamed about her work, which sent many LEPrecon officers gibbering to Argon about red-eyed trolls.

But Artemis… she could not even list it all. She had never really thought about the tragedy in his life before, and felt somewhat ashamed. Who was she to judge?

He was just a boy anyway.

And so her night passed.

**:i:**

Opal didn't take to disappointment easily. She had to eat a whole box of truffles to calm her nerves.

Holly had a week off; she had no reservations at any hotel or spa in the Lower Elements, nor had there been a large drain to her account, so it wasn't anywhere illegal. As if Holly would break one of her precious rules and get a Mud Man spa treatment. She could find no records on the LEP site of any recent mission by here either that might have cut into her days off.

It was as if she had disappeared from the asthenosphere of the earth.

Foaly, evidently, had cleaned up after himself well.

She briefly pondered the idea of an affair between the two, laughing at the image, but threw it aside for more serious reckoning. Where was she? It could be that she had died and the LEP were doing an unusually good job of keeping it from the media. But she doubted it. Root would have succumbed to old… habits, which were most conspicuous on his checking account.

She didn't like that idea anyway. The idea of someone else destroying Holly made her short pixie temper flare up like a magma chute.

The other major probability, abduction by aliens aside, was that Holly was on some top secret mission somewhere that was so completely off record not even the Council were fit to know.

Though she knew the latter was the most likely, she still couldn't be sure. She could never afford to be unsure again.

The records of chute travel were positively hideous to pour through.

Opal checked Holly's account again. A charge for a Mountain Dew caught her eye—at a bar.

She squealed in delight. She didn't know Holly went clubbing!

The security videos for the bar were pathetically easy to hack in to, but she rewarded herself with a truffle anyway. After a bit of searching during the night in question, she found the video—she talked briefly to an elf, then left abruptly afterward. She doubted that it had been from hurt feelings.

She followed Lime around for a bit until he bought another drink; cross referencing the time of purchase from the video with the bar's financial records for the night, she identified him as Vert Wintergreen, a young journalist for _Lower Elements Express_.

Curious, she did a search for all articles by him. He wrote for the gossip section.

Her grin widened as she spotted his latest article, still hot off the press. **THE CRAZY GIRLY CAPTAIN DATES!**

She read on, giggling up a storm the likes of which will never be seen again. He described his 'date' with Holly in enticing detail before concluding that he had declined her request to head on over to her apartment for the sake of his reputation.

It was obvious she had been called by the LEP to duty: no abduction by aliens, no secretive death.

She replayed the security cameras, this time looking at them from various angles so she could read their lips. Perhaps he had… extended their encounter a bit.

Opal still found it damn funny.

She twirled in her new hoverboy, pondering why Holly dated. Most women in power didn't bother with such things. She had thought Holly was quite the female eunuch before, but now all sorts of interesting psychoanalyzing could be done.

She pulled out a notebook and wrote in large, girlish letters. Had she wrote in English, she would have put hearts over the 'i's.

_Why does Little Miss Perfect date, but only rarely?_

She pondered for a moment, then wrote: _Impulse. She denies her own desire until it becomes too much._

_Why does she stop?_

That one was easy. _She feels ashamed of herself_.

She stared at the second for a few moments, then crossed it out. Useless tangent.

_What is her desire for?_

That was the hard question. She chewed on the end of the gellpen, then answered:

_Normal life_

_Companionship (sexual: lust)_

_Companionship (non-sexual)_

She thought for a moment, then added, _D) frustration_

She liked that last one. _4. Frustration over what?_

She giggled. It could be unrequited love, and there were sooo many hot Recon jocks. In school, she had dated many of the officers who were now the LEP's finest. And poor, poor Holly, surrounded by them everyday, unable to act for fear of her position?

Opal had to admit to herself this possibility was unlikely, but she liked it anyways. Trouble was the current teenage heartthrob, the new golden boy in Recon. Holly, surely, must have at least a fledgling crush on him.

Or maybe she liked mature guys. Opal wrinkled her nose in disgust. Root. Eww…

Foaly? A little kinky for a goody-good elf, but maybe.

Or…

Opal's eyes twinkled.

Little boys.

Little human boys.

She popped another truffle in her mouth. She deserved one after that thought.

**:i:**

Nothing much happened, but I hope you all liked it. A lot of it was build up to the next chapter, where things will speed up again now Opal's involved and Foaly's actively trying to diagnose Artemis. (I _told _you this was an alternate OD!)

Two things: I started two forums. One was co-founded with Kitty Rainbow, and is basically a directory for people available to beta stories, and also a directory of people in need of ones. It's on the 'my forums' thingy on my profile, so check it out. Plus, I need an editor for this too—if you like this and you beta it, you get the new chapters before anyone else.

The second thing is that I also have a forum for my stories and such. You can post comments and such on it that aren't really applicable as reviews, or come as an afterthought, or whatever. You can also check out updates (such as when I post revised versions of chapters or post things on other sites) and look at some of my personal thoughts on what I right.

If it comes down to it, I'd rather you look at the former of the two forums. It's for the Greater Good of AF Fanfiction.


	6. Opal and the Piano

D E S C E N T

- Dim Aldebaran -

Chapter Six

_Somewhere in a hidden memory_

_images float before my eyes._

"All Souls Night"

Loreena McKennitt

**:i:**

Juliet came up to the room at nine to announce breakfast. Artemis had been awake since six now; Holly had had a hard time staying with the baby-sat, outright refusing to follow him into the bathroom suite.

As Artemis followed Juliet down, the Butler shot her a rather complicated look, something between 'don't follow' and 'help, please?' There was also a bit of, 'my bedroom is free for the next hour while I'm busy serving a rather complicated formal breakfast, why don't you get some sleep?'

Holly had become quite adept at reading such signals over the years, and complied. Fairies actually require more sleep than humans, due to a metabolism that had to support the unique requisites for magic. She grabbed an hour and a half while Juliet served.

She would have killed a bull troll to see Artemis talking with his parents. Foaly, evidently, had the same desires. She found him blabbering into her comm piece when Juliet woke her up.

"… I can't believe you passed up such an opportunity! You know how critical it could be, seeing him interact with loved ones?"

"Shut up," she said wearily. Seeing Juliet's surprised expression—she hadn't been saying anything—she pointed ruefully at the comm piece and made a face.

Artemis was talking to his father about 'recent behaviors' after being prompted at breakfast to explain the sudden doubling of his Swiss bank account. Trusting him not to do anything too funny while in his father's care, they decided to have another war room chat.

"Does he have a diagnosis yet?" Juliet asked, plopping down on her beanbag. They were in Juliet's room—the only hallway leading from the study was right outside the door. They would hear the Artemii leaving from their tete-a-tete.

Holly turned her comm piece into a conference mode so Juliet could hear the response: "Yes and no."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Juliet demanded. Her voice was tinged with worry, giving her normally bright tones a gray watecolor wash.

"'Yes' in that I know what caused it," Foaly said. They could hear the crunch of carrots over the comm. "'No' in that I don't know exactly what 'it' is."

"So you've gotten us nowhere," Juliet said flatly. Holly could see the shine to those big blue eyes, a shine she had so often seen as a teen. Emotions are always higher, more intense when you were young—it was almost ecstasy when you cried, almost Nirvana with every scream, so sinful, so satisfying.

"Yes and no," the centaur said. Holly could have snapped his neck and called it music right then. "Now that I know the cause and I'm a little more acquainted with our young madman's mind, I can go about curing him."

Holly kneaded her forehead tiredly. "What's the cause?"

"Lots of things."

"Answer, damnit!" Juliet yelled. Holly looked sharply at her. She stared steadily down into her lap, where, like two crinkled pearls, her pale hands clenched into tight fists. Holly had never seen her like that before—but stress does strange things to the mind, to the actions it follows.

Foaly heaved a melodramatic sigh. "No one appreciates me."

"We're not in the mood," Holly said flatly.

She could hear the hurt in Foaly's voice, and almost felt sorry: "Artemis hasn't had a very easy life for a snot-nosed aristocrat. He never developed properly, even for a genius—asides from being a social reject, his parents paid him little attention because of their own little issues. Those would lead to problems as it is. Then, count in his dad dying and his mom going insane within hours each other."

"He didn't seem especially 'hurt' when we saw him," Holly pointed out. Artemis had always kept that impassive mask; at times, it was difficult to believe there was anything beneath its peerless surface.

Juliet shook her head, raising a tear-streaked face. She looked happier now that she had had a good cry. "It hurt him," she said, hiccupping a bit. "I can't tell what he's feeling, but it always hurt him."

Foaly's grin, unseen but certainly there, was infuriating. Holly ignored it for the price of peace. "Stress always zaps the mind of a little of its vigor. Every bit of stress you get is your mind wearing a little thinner for the rest of your life. Now, taking that, and the fact he was head of a rather large criminal empire for several years, the pressure that his father was dead, and absolutely _no one _to talk to… Really, it's only natural that he wouldn't be 'stable' later on. He'd be loads more prone to anxiety disorders, depression, addictions, etcetera. Now, he had this stress on him in every dealing with us—near death of Butler? Shooting his own _father_? Come on, _stress_!"

"So he's insane because he's under stress."

The crunch of carrots. Holly felt a swell of anger. "No, not quite. Stress is what made his mind so susceptible. Now, the _cause _is the mindwipe."

Her head buzzed. "It's my fault," she whispered, but no one was listening—Foaly was rattling off how the mindwipe had broken his mind, how the trigger of the gold coin was too rough to trigger a full recall, how his mind tried to jam the pieces together, breaking them asunder—she tried to listen but she couldn't: her thoughts spiraled down like Artemis' music, collapsing in on itself like a lark with broken wings.

Juliet mercifully bore her away. "This is all your fault!" she cried out. "He'd be fine if it wasn't for you and your goddamn Council!"

Foaly then said the strangest thing Holly had ever heard him say. "I know."

A silence met this, not even broken by the munching of carrots. What could they say—what could anyone say?

"No, it's not," Holly said at last. "I let it happen. Root let it happen—we _all _let it happen, not just you—"

"It's my fault," Juliet whispered into her hands. "I'm—I'm his Butler now, I should b able to take care of him, but I haven't been able to do that—"

Foaly broke the silence, whatever mood he had now gone. "Well, all this isn't going to help Mud Whelp, is it? Juliet, did you give him the Prozac?"

She nodded mutely.

"Well, stop giving it to him. The thing about what he has is that it's going to be constantly changing. One moment he might be schizoaffective, the next mania or agoraphobia or something. It's a big mishmash of all sorts of things. I'm hoping everything stays in the first two axes, since then its nothing a good shot of sparks can't cure."

As he paused for a bite of carrot, Holly cut in: "So, do you want me to do the same thing I did for his mother…?"

"Frond, no!" Foaly exclaimed. "I want to bring in a professional. I know a few decent ones from the Brotherhood, not at all like Argon."

"Root's not going to like that."

"Well, Julius can deal with it—oh, _D'Arvit!_"

There was a skittering of keys, _tapatatapatatapata. _

"What is it?" Juliet demanded. She could hear footsteps coming down the hall; they had to break it up soon. Artemis was coming.

Interference. Holly couldn't hear his response. "Foaly, what is it?" she asked, jamming the comm piece closer to her ear.

"Tell me later," Juliet said, wiping her face. It was obvious she had been crying, but she had probably been doing it quite a bit lately. It wouldn't be a strange sight in Fowl Manor, and in all likelihood would not be remarked upon.

Holly pressed the comm piece even closer. Her ear protested, but she ignored the opposition. "Foaly, Foaly, can you copy? What do you want us to do?"

There was the unmistakable crackle of a Neutrino, and the thud of a falling body—Juliet's body.

Holly turned around. "You!"

The gun quivered in the hands of the untrained. "How original," Opal said, and giggled. She wore blue jeans and a bubblegum t-shirt; Holly half-expected her to take out an iPod. A decidedly feline smile arced her lips. "Now, don't I say, 'Yes, it's me'?"

Holly was one of the better officers in the LEP, the result of some very good reflexes on her part.

Perhaps it was hopeless to begin with. She fell to the floor as a Neutrino beam hit her full in the chest.

She had never been shot with a Neutrino before.

_Now I know_, she wondered madly into the spreading darkness.

**:i:**

Opal smiled at the corpses. It had been little trouble to convince her… _father_ to arrange a business meeting with the Fowl patriarch. The Fowls were developing a monopoly in shipping; the irony of them delivering the very heart of her scheme to Italy was quite attractive to her.

She contemplated the Neutrino in her hands, a marvel of silver and curves. Who would have known that hapless centaur could design something so elegant?

Of course, he was still inferior.

She smiled, and slipped it into her purse. The mission had been planned rather last-minute, but its very simplicity made it effective. It was very difficult to mess up shooting someone's back.

Juliet had tried to call out for help, but if the scars crisscrossing her body told the truth, she had been in a rather nasty accident and thus with slowed reflexes. Holly, of course, had been half a room away when she decided to lunge. It had been easy to shoot her.

Butler, that troll-of-a-Mud-Man, had been taken out with the Neutrino as he chopped carrots in the kitchen. He hadn't been alarmed by the guest's 'daughter' who had walked into the kitchen, answering her every question about the Manor's inhabitants until she shot the pistol. He wouldn't be waking up for quite a while.

Artemis I was in a soundproof conference room with her 'father', and wouldn't be exiting for several hours. Considering its close proximity to the front entryway, she doubted the Fowl patriarch would notice the state of his employees.

That left Mud Mommy. She would be easy, though; she knew how aristocratic women were raised. She doubted that the mistress of Fowl Manor had sought to overcome her upbringing with jujitsu lessons, so she was probably fine.

She had to make sure everyone was out—and out of sight—by the time the men came out of the conference room. Getting Artemis and Holly into the trunk of the car might be a bit of trouble, even with her Moonbelt. If they woke while 'father' was driving away, there would be… problems, and she might have to take her vengeance prematurely.

Foaly had been talking to them, probably via Holly's comm piece. She disabled it quickly, slipping it into her purse. She couldn't keep it long or else he would track her: but she so desperately wanted to talk with that moron. Maybe during the ride to their private yacht; she could tell 'father' she was talking to a friend on the cellphone.

She gagged Juliet and pushed her under the bed. Holly she left by the door. She hated physical work. It was a pity she couldn't bring those idiot twins along, but they'd screw everything up somehow.

Time to find Mud Mommy.

The Manor was huge, but big-eyed teenagers were quite disarming: Butler had kindly told her that Artemis was preparing a piano composition for his father's birthday, and that 'Mistress Fowl' was helping him with it.

She drifted into the grand entryway, pausing on the stairs. The surgery had left her superior fairy hearing unaffected—she could hear it immediately, even through at least one set of closed doors.

Opal had never been a music person, but as she ascended the stairs she found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on her steps. Her mind spun as it analyzed the music, finding increasingly complex patterns, and her subconscious practically thrummed as it pointed out algorithm after algorithm expressed in the notes. She doubted anyone had ever appreciated the complexity of his music before. Mud Mommy probably just thought it sounded cool. She wouldn't know Avogadro's number from those of Fibonacci.

The hallway. The door at the end was the source of the music—it sounded as she had always imagined the _mesmer_ to, a choir of angels. He spun a web of silver and knives, for the music was as sharp and piercing as any blade, entrapping her so surely that there was no reason she could ever want to leave, no reason to not want the sweet heartbreak of his music—

She opened the door. She nearly staggered with the sound; how could music be like _that_, so utterly tangible as if it were a force of nature on its own?

Angeline beamed at her as she entered; perhaps she had grown somewhat immune to the magic of his music. "You must be the daughter," she said, beckoning through a haze of wonder. Opal found herself only slightly annoyed by the term she used, 'daughter'—normally she put the speaker of that hated term on her hit list, once she ruled the world, but now… now she could hardly care.

Artemis played as most piano players do: swaying with the crescendos, following his fingers up and down the keys in the unconscious fashion. He looked almost ghost-like: his pale face all the paler for his white shirt, and his black hair was a dream of midnight, half-ruffled, half-wet.

He finished the piece with a twirl of chords, flying daggers. He let the sound ring out for a moment, then brought his feet off the pedals. "How was that, Mother?"

"Fantastic," Angeline murmured.

He gazed at his mother for a moment, as if in deep thought—but then he turned, and saw her.

"Hello, Opal."

She stood, frozen, unable to act—to think _Koboi_ was rendered paralyzed by a Mud Boy! D'Arvit, there was something with that music—

Angeline pursed her lips, confused. "Didn't Timmy say her name was B—Be—" She smiled apologetically. "Excuse me, but _is_ it Opal?"

Artemis didn't seem inclined to do anything, though the knowledge of who she was was heavy in his eyes.

"It's a pet name," she lied smoothly. Vaguely, she wondered why she didn't take the Neutrino and shoot them both down.

Angeline's eyes twinkled. Opal had the urge to slap her. "That's cute," she said, and stood up from the chair she had been occupying. "Well, I'll leave you two children alone."

"We're hardly children, Mother," Artemis said, smoothing his hair back.

Angeline laughed; it sounded like a magpie to Opal. She left.

Artemis turned to Opal. "I assume you saw the algorithm."

"Yes, very clever Mud Boy," Opal said, baring her teeth. It didn't feel the same to her—_damn music_. "I assume you got the idea from VGRS."

He smiled at the reference. "Not quite. If I wanted to do that, I'd have a 200-decibal rock concert."

She shrugged, still unnerved. He looked so calm, so accepting—was this the little Mud Whelp who had outwitted her? "You're writing the music so our subconscious will respond," she pointed out. "Taking advantage of what's written in our DNA."

He chuckled openly, and leaned back against the piano. "A poor explanation, but it will suffice. The idea is fascinating, yes?"

Enough. Opal drew out her Neutrino. Artemis nodded, understanding. "I don't suppose an apology would change matters?"

She smiled. This was more like it. "Nope. Try the bribe."

"Gold."

Her grin spread wider. "Try again."

"Three corporations, your choice."

"I could do that in my sleep, Mud Whelp."

He sighed, and looked into his hands. "Assistance, perhaps?"

She pulled the trigger. He spasmed, then relaxed, crumpled over the piano as if he had merely fallen asleep over it.

She walked over, slipping the Neutrino into her purse—and, bending down to whisper into his ear: "In your dreams. I work alone now."

**:i:**

Root was silent after Foaly explained the details. Then he got mad.

Very mad.

Foaly let the rant pass by him for several minutes before he deemed it safe to interrupt. "Juliet will contact me any minute now," he said. "Opal also took Holly's comm piece: since it is still in motion, I assume she's taking it with her. We can send out a LEPretrieval team to take her out."

"I don't like this," Root growled. He kneaded his forehead in frustration. "I can't believe I let her do this, working _aboveground_ for so long—"

"We can track Opal," Foaly countered. "We can't do that belowground. Mud Men information networks can be tapped more easily than ours. It's better that she made her first move aboveground. We are at the advantage."

Root shook his head. "I can't just send Trouble out there. Not without information. Get me information, and I can send LEPretrieval."

Foaly nodded. Though no situation involving Opal was to be taken lightly, they were quite fortunate: she had made it easier to contain. Since the B'wa Kell incident, many unused chutes were filled in, rendered completely unnavigable, and the remaining tightly monitored. Opal would be hard pressed to sneak back underground to wreak havoc on Foaly and Root, surely the other two people on her hitlist.

Frankly, Foaly was surprised she hadn't gone after them first, leaving the more exposed 'hits' for last. With them out of the way, she could have her world domination and her vengeance too. With the LEP on high alert like this, however…

She had something up her sleeve. Foaly knew it.

He trusted Artemis Fowl to figure it out. Opal couldn't bear to kill them outright—she'd subject them to some little mind games first. Artemis, he was sure, was vastly her superior, and would be able to win even playing by her rules.

It was Artemis himself he was more concerned about. Artemis' instability was entirely unique: he could not be sure what it would lead to. True madness, the madness of the genius mind? Or perhaps something less dramatic—schizophrenia, or one of the mood disorders: bipolar, mania. He thought it most likely he would slip into schizoaffective, but that was mostly on hunch.

Something in particular scared him: Artemis might also be _used_. Surely Opal could see that—and in the difficult situation she had put herself in, maybe she just couldn't quite see the way out herself…

The thought scared him cold.

He couldn't tell Root, though.

Root would send LEPretrieval down with orders to kill Artemis—he had never had the fondness for the Irish youth Foaly had. Foaly had an inkling of his beautiful mind. Root could only grasp at appearances.

He could wait.

**:i:**

Sorry. I've been awful at posting the revised chappies. My laptop died last week, and I can only use this computer an hour or so a day. It really sucks. My hard drive is completely wiped, so I have to start from scratch with editing and new chapters and stuff. cries

I'll have the revised versions up by New Years, hopefully. Check my update forum for the whens and whats.

And a big thanks to C**offeeandCherryBrandy**, who has done a wonderful job of poking inconsistencies when I get sloppy (especially in that last chapter), and **The White Lily**, who is the beta to end all betas, even if she hasn't gotten past chapter one yet.


	7. Fond

D E S C E N T

- Dim Aldebaran -

Chapter Seven

_And as I listened, your voice seemed so clear:_

_so calmly you were calling your god._

"Full Circle"

Loreena McKennitt

**:i:**

Juliet was the first to awake.

Ko's conditioning had imprinted her deeply; her first reaction was that of all Butlers. She faked unconsciousness, stretching her senses out analyze the situation:

Citrus shampoo, hers; chrysanthemums, drifting through the window; musty, like old age, or dust.

Metallic, blood, where she had bit her lip; saltiness, teenage tears.

Strange silkiness, dust, old dust; threads that caught her fingers, her shag carpet.

Breathing, harsh, fast, cracking with dust.

Silence was not a good thing.

She opened her eyes—gray shadows, with a sliver of light out of the corner of her eye. She was under her bed, of all places.

She stretched out, feeling the confines. No chains or the like, thank God, but she had an inch of wriggle room above her.

She slid her feet an inch over, then her torso, slowly, carefully, feeling her own breath settle on her like a searing rag.

Slide, inch—inch—inch.

Her eyes watered from the disturbed dust.

inch—inch—inch

The darkness was oppressive. She wondered if she was developing a phobia.

inch—inch—inch

She remembered the girl in the doorway. Opal Koboi. She looked almost human, with that cotton candy pink t-shirt, almost childish with that glittery butterfly clip that sent her black hair out in a fashionable spray. Even her expression was human—hate, pure hate.

inch—inch—inch—out

Juliet jumped to her feet. No security threats. Holly was gone.

Artemis had had panels installed in their bedrooms, safety caches of sorts, lined with lead and projecting false readings out to the world. The LEP had not found Artemis'; hers was probably still intact.

She pulled at the seam, scratching at it with her fingernails until it came apart. A neat line of Neutrinos on the far side, and in a bin on the bottom random equipment. She grabbed the familiar ones, the ones she knew how to use—Neutrinos (_a gun is a gun_, she thought morbidly), mirrored sunglasses, ear sponges, sonic grenades, enlarged LEP helmet.

She was not as strong as she used to be, but she was still a Butler, and her Principle was in danger.

She creeped down to the study. The Artemii weren't there—somehow, they had managed to sneak by from their little tête-à-tête.

Dom's room. No one there; she left via the kitchen, and saw him slumped on the ground like a nuked mountainside, grated carrots covering him as an early snowfall.

_No time._

_Artemis is at stake._

As she walked through the door, she heard him moan—it was all she could do to keep from turning back.

Up the stairs.

Artemis' room.

Angeline was sprawled in the corridor, a fallen birch, graceful even in death. Her hair had escaped from its coiffe and was sprawled across the hallway like so many branches, and her face was pale, twisted in pain.

Juliet reached down and checked her pulse; not dead, asleep in the bleak midwinter.

Artemis' room was just ahead. The silence killed her.

She came to the door. It was ajar. If Koboi was anywhere, it was here.

She turned the Neutrino to the highest setting, and opened the door.

No one.

Artemis was not at his piano, letting his soul out—there was no sign of struggle. Everything was impossibly neat, as only Artemis could manage.

—the computer was on.

She went to it. There was a message. It looked short, probably relevant, so she read it:

_Butler—_

_If you are reading this, then I have failed to handle Koboi on my own. Yes, Koboi—I'm sure you remember by now. She arrived in a red Forester. I do not know whether she looped the security cameras. I do not know if she is after me, or all of us. There is no time. See Father's business contact. They are related. I suspect she is linking herself to humans more so than in the B'wa Kell incident: she appears to have taken the form of a human child. If so, she has no magic._

_Mother is coming. I must go now._

_Best of luck,_

_AF_

She ran to the window. It had a perfect view of the driveway; no red Forester, no 'human child'.

"Damn."

'Damn' was an understatement, but I'm sure you understand. It is often difficult to express oneself in situations like these.

There was no point in running now; Koboi had gone, with Artemis and Holly. She could only make plans.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye; she exited the room, and there was the father, as she had never seen him before—hunched over Angeline, sobbing in a dry, broken matter, doing a stilted CPR.

"Sir!" she cried out, running to him. "Sir, she's alright! You'll hurt her!"

He looked up, startled. He stopped the CPR. "What happened?" he demanded, checking over his wife. He had never thought to check her pulse—aristocrats could be so stupid sometimes.

"Kidnapping," she said.

"The Mafiya?" He stood up, his face tightening with memories.

Juliet shook her head. "No. The fairies." She began to walk away, to revive Dom.

He caught her arm. "This is no time for sarcasm," he said angrily. "Who took Arty?"

Juliet looked him in the eye, every inch a Butler, from her dusty clothes to her peach-fuzz hair. "I'm being serious."

He was a businessman; he knew when truth was looking him in the eye. "I think," he said slowly, "you should explain how _fairies_ could have taken Arty."

**:i:**

Holly came to slowly, perhaps too slowly. She was not used to being knocked unconscious—just as she was unused to the bonds that circled her limbs as if a kraken.

Her first instinct was, of course, to scream for help. When that was inhibited by the gag, she tried the next in line, squirming futilely. Her Recon instincts did her little good: there was no Neutrino, no Foaly. Only the strange and twisted darkness of a blindfold—the sort that played tricks on the mind: _is it dark outside, or light? Are they bringing forth the iron maiden, the crucifix, or the guillotine?—tortured, martyred, or executed?_

It didn't particular matter, though, since then the car hit a rather nasty bump in the road, and she reverted to the set of instincts she referred to as the Artemis collection. It loosely comprised of a general bemoaning of the situation, frantic, spiraling thoughts of escape, and then, of course, the 'what-if' factor.

It was surprising useful, given that the collection largely consisted of self-pity and the like. Her mind already toyed with the warmth besides her, who, by his relatively shallow breathing, was already awake.

She felt weight on her side , slapped down rather clumsily —she must be laying on her side, since it would explain why her left limbs were all numb. "If you would, Holly."

Holly blinked in the dark, even if there was none to see her surprise. He had, evidently, already recovered his memories. "Further down," she said. He complied; she felt his fists flop down to the uncomfortable area between her head and her belly. The feeling was not a pleasant one.

She brought her arms up—tied in front, thank Frond—and mussed with his bonds briefly. They weren't done particularly well, as if she had just read a book on knotmaking but hadn't gotten any practical experience first.

In the warm darkness, Artemis brought his hands away with a sigh. There was the sound of rustling cloth, and then she felt his hands scrabbling for hers, touching places she'd rather he never touch again. "Watch it," she snapped.

"_Désolée_," Artemis murmured, now fiddling with her bonds. His larger fingers did not favor the tight knots; they took several minutes to undo.

There was silence for several moments, silence but for the sound of their breathing, fast and shallow in the hot air.

"It's Koboi," she said suddenly.

"I know," he replied calmly. "I talked to her."

"She's a loony."

"As 'loony' as Foaly."

Holly glared, even though he was unable to appreciate it. "Foaly's good. Opal's bad."

"This is getting us nowhere, by the way. I thought you might like to know."

Holly shifted in the dark. It was obvious they were in the trunk of a car; she could feel the rumble of a shoddy highway beneath her, shaking her very bones. "How are we getting out of here?"

"We don't."

Holly didn't like darkness. Holly didn't like being that close to Artemis. Perhaps most of all, Holly didn't like not being in control. "Why not?" she demanded.

"If we escape now, we will know nothing of Koboi's plans."

"We won't be a part of them, either. I don't feel like dying. This feels like an opportunity to escape. Very touchy-feely: let's go."

"We stay."

"You can't order me around, Artemis Fowl!"

"You're right," he conceded—"but my ideas have this tendency to be right." With her silence, he continued: "Opal Koboi has recovered from her comatose state. She would not have kidnapped the two of us without plans for the underground: they attempt a rescue shortly, and in all likelihood succeed unless they are… distracted. She was accompanied by a human contact with enough status to arrange a business meeting with my father. She knows what she's doing, Captain, and we don't. I can only extrapolate so much of her plans."

Holly's head spun, swirling with thoughts in the muggy silence until she was struck by one in particular:

"What's happened to you?"

In the darkness, there was the silence of hesitation, hot and heavy in the trunk of the car. They could hear cars outside, they could hear the road beneath, they could hear the sound of their hearts.

"Another time."

"Artemis—"

"I recovered my memories a week after the mindwipe. Do you honestly think a time capsule and a few implanted emails were all I had?"

Silence, like the slow pulse of blood.

"Now," he continued, "if you don't mind, I'd like to think for a time. If you still insist on escape, the lock can be picked, and we're in urban Dublin. Opal can't pursue. The Fowl townhouse is just around the corner, if that is the church I hear—the chauffeur will recognize you. The password for the comm is 'cavalier'. "

Holly thought of the piano, the Prozac, the mindwipe—here, he seemed back to normal, criminal mastermind style.

"I'll stay," she said to the darkness.

"I thought as much."

She felt a ball of annoyance tighten in her stomach, half-remembered from those Spiro days with their careless banter and exhilarating action. It was a strange sort of homecoming for her.

Foaly had said his mind was disintegrating—

It was hard to believe, locked in a car trunk on their way to death by the hands of a power-mad pixie.

Could Artemis be going mad?

_Well, _she thought to herself_, now is not the time_.

**:i:**

Opal pondered her nails. She hated Mud Man traffic. She hated Mud Man cities.

She hated Mud Man cosmetics, she hated Mud Man fashion, she hated Mud Man stereotypes.

She hated Mud Men in general, for that matter.

Her 'father' was at the wheel. He had no idea there were people in the trunk; in fact, he had no idea anything was wrong in the least bit. He had come out of the meeting smiling—not only did he get the shipping deal, despite the increased costs due of his ecology-conscious industry, but he also converted Master Fowl into his green movement. Fowl Industries, it would seem, would be affiliated with the treehuggers from now on.

Though Opal was quite the industrialist Down There, to Mud Men she came across as a greenie. She approved of 'father's' methods—despite her hatred of their faux relationship, she mentally promised herself to put his precious environmental movement into power, if not himself. She couldn't stand the idea of being called 'daughter' in front of her slaves.

Her lips curled. Ah, yes. Slaves. Slaves were one thing she approved of. They had been outlawed millenniums ago in Haven, but the practice had always seemed efficient to her. Sell your ideas, sell your body, sell your soul. There wasn't a whole lot of difference to her. Her line was drawn at forced slavery. Sell yourself, not another.

She had her policies all planned out. Introducing a cold fusion would be the first. After the energy crisis was averted, she would continue to consolidate her reign with a flush of fairy technologies, integrating them a dozen at a time until the Mud Men were all caught up, and she could graduate them to the stars her peop—_the fairies _would never dare touch for fear of leaving Mother Earth.

The Mud Men were much easier to mold than fairies—fairies were too set in their ideas, ancient and still aging—but Mud Men were a vibrant, fast race, ready to glisten if given a bit of dwarven rock polish. The fairies, the fairies were cut down and down—they, too, glittered, but it was artificial. The Mud Men had so much more potential, and rock polish, though dangerous to use, could preserve so much more of the natural beauty.

She laughed—'father' gave her a look, but assumed it was something from the sitcom playing on her DVD player. _Friends _wasn't too funny.

Opal turned the channel. She had planted a camera in the trunk; no sound, but she could at least see what they were doing. Maybe Artemis was in the process of discovering religion; atheism was rather unhealthy, according to the Brotherhood of Psychology. Maybe Artemis wanted to know of Certain Things before he died—ever the curious, genii were.

She giggled at the thought. Ridiculous, but the visual really was quite funny.

'Father' leaned over. "What's that?"

"New TV show," she responded.

"What is it about?"

She smiled. "Captivity. Vengeance." Her smiled widened. "Global domination."

The light turned red. The Forester ground to a halt. "Are these two people trying to stop it?" he asked.

"Yep. And failing miserably, I might add."

He turned to the wheel as the light changed. "Well, I hope they win."

"They won't. The mastermind is too clever for them." She paused. "You see the big one?"

He looked over as traffic closed up again. "Yes."

"He's the smartest person on Earth," she said, "but he's going mad. That's why he'll never beat her. His mind will be collapsing as everything falls around him, and he won't even notice."

Compelled by something strange, she continued—"The girl on his side, the small black blur. She knows what's happening, but she doesn't know what to do. She's not very smart. In fact, she's stupid. She'll be the only one around to save his mind, and thus save the world, but she doesn't know how. All she knows is how to shoot things."

"Sounds interesting," he said. "What about the villain?"

Opal paused. "The villain is incredibly beautiful, genius, witty, beloved, and perfect beyond compare." She considered her nails. "She wants the world because there is nothing else for her to want. She's tried family, she's tried riches, she's tried knowledge, but they didn't work out for her. She will have it all, and everything will thank her for it because she'll fix the world and make it perfect." She smiled. "Just like her."

"Cool show," he said. "What's it called?"

She smiled at the screen. "No idea," she replied, "but I'm quite fond of it."

**:i:**

The whole bit with Juliet bugs me a lot. I cut and cut and cut to try and write a proper action sorta thing, but it didn't work out too well. Sorry. I'll try to stay away from action sequences from now on.

Mleh. I'll try for another update on Saturday, but I dunno. I'm writing three novellengths at once now, albeit one cowriting writing, and it's rather hectic when school and sci-oly are taken into account. So.

Oh, did anyone catch what the quote at the beginning was referring to in the story, or is my allusion too weirded out...?

Thanks for reading! If anyone can give me advice on writing fast scenes like the one with Juliet—or pointing out what I actually did right, if any—it would be much appreciated. And tell me if you like what I did with Opal. I like the idea of her being a bit idealistic, but it's an easy layer to cut if it's too unrealistic. Thanks!


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